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azombiewritesTitle: The Battered Collection of Captain Lee Crane
Fandom: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (TV Series)
Genre: Hurt/comfort | Angst | Horror | Science Fiction
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Captain Lee Crane, Admiral Harri Nelson, Chief Sharkey, Chip Morton, Kowalski, Patterson, Doc and Sparks.
Disclaimers: Based on the characters created by Irwin Allen.
Challenge:10100-Hurt-Comfort on Livejournal.
Chapter Word Count: 2,561
Status: Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone story.
Summary: Commander Lee Crane, Captain of the Seaview, thought he lived a dangerous life . . . and then he met me; a writer whose only purpose in life is to physically and emotionally whump Lee Crane in a descriptive and bloody manner in a collection of short stories.
Chapter Two
Prompt: Intoxicated
Genre: Angst
Chapter Summary: Too many times, he'd lost his mind and body to sabotage, controlled and forced to do something against his will.
Episode Tag: Tag for the season 3 episode 'Shadowman'.
Limbs heavy with guilt, his movements slow, Lee Crane walked toward sickbay. Reaching the closed doorway, he stopped as he felt a tremor of doubt, of hesitation ripple through him. Shook it off and reached for the doorknob, fingers wrapping around the cold metal. A single thought, a cowardly admission . . . the closed door was a barrier, something he could use as an excuse, a reason to turn around and walk away. Return to the control room, a healthier emotionally stable environment, a place where he could concentrate on other things; only a few hours away from port, his guidance needed. A weak excuse he knew . . .
No. Not this time. He’d already put it off for too long, wasted too much time, always looking for something to justify his reason for not visiting sickbay. Could blame it on the barrage of thoughts and emotions troubling him keeping him away; too indecisive and unsure how he was going to apologise, to ask for forgiveness from a man he’d gun downed. Couldn’t understand why he found it so difficult, a verbal apology so hard to find, the words eluding him. Feeling a sudden need to retreat, to find solace . . . to think, Crane turned and looked back down the empty passageway.
It would be so easy to walk away, to come back . . .
Opened the door and stepped into sickbay, stopping just inside the doorway, out of sight. If Doc saw him, there would be no escape.
Patterson lay in one of the lower bunk beds, eyes closed, body still, his right shoulder bandaged and his arm strapped to his chest. A stab of emotion crushed Crane’s chest, a tight band of guilt and remorse. Knew he should be grateful it hadn’t been worse, thankfully his aim had been inaccurate, only one shot of two causing serious damage.
Only one shot needed.
One shot was enough to almost kill a man and push his Skipper into a guilt-ridden slump.
Looking away, Crane grimaced. He had to be weak of mind, could think of no other way to explain it; too many times, he’d lost his mind and body to sabotage, controlled and forced to do things against his will. There was no memory, no recollection of what he’d done, always informed after the event was over. No one hurt during the previous incidents but this time it had been different . . . this time he’d shot the Admiral and Patterson.
He had almost killed Patterson.
He didn’t have to imagine what Patterson was thinking, a collision of emotions no doubt; a mixture of disbelief, anger and blame. Crane had felt the same emotions after the Admiral had shot Seaview’s captain. It wasn’t until later, when he discovered the reason why Nelson had taken such drastic measures that Crane had been able to forgive and accept what his friend had done. Crane wasn’t sure if Patterson would forgive or forget after he received an explanation.
Crane felt a moment of relief, his guilt increasing as he came up with another excuse to put off a conversation he wasn’t ready for, still no idea how to apologise. With Patterson asleep, he could put off his apology a little longer . . .
Feeling like a coward, Crane turned and walked out of sickbay.
.
.
.
With the crash doors closed behind him, Crane took another sip of Nelson’s very expensive Scotch Whisky. Slumping further down into the chair, he lifted his legs, resting crossed ankles on the edge of the table. Allowed his head to fall back and closed his eyes. He’d hoped the alcohol would deaden the emotions, the anxiety he felt. He hoped to drink enough Dutch courage to allow him to return to sickbay and apologise before they reached port, home base only an hour away.
It wasn’t working. Not yet.
Crane could almost feel the yellow streak embracing his spine. He wasn’t a coward and if asked he would admit to moments of anxiety, of fear when in a life-threatening situation; a natural healthy reaction, something wrong if he didn’t feel such emotions when lives were at risk. He was always able to work with the fear, taking advantage of the shot of adrenaline it gave him, gaining strength from it.
In this situation, the anxiety was in control, a debilitating fear. He would rather face a sea monster than Patterson. Felt confident he could take down three armed men with only his bare hands. Convinced he could easily outthink an intelligent alien.
But right now, when it mattered . . . when his courage was needed . . . he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face Patterson.
In this situation, he was a coward.
As the thoughts continued to stumble through his mind, the alcohol slowing down his thought process, Crane opened his eyes and took another mouthful of alcohol. Not enough courage gained, he may have to drink the entire bottle before he returned to sickbay.
Frowned when he heard footsteps on the stairwell. He’d left orders he wasn’t to be disturbed. Turned his head, looking back over his left shoulder, ready to berate the unwanted intrusion with frustration and anger. Snapped his mouth shut before he could utter a single word. The sight of Admiral Nelson, his left arm in a sling, shut down the verbal reprimand Crane was ready and willing to unleash.
With a heavy weight in his chest, Crane turned back, gaze looking through the observation windows. Nothing to see, only clear waters ahead but inside Seaview, Crane was sure he was about to wade through murky waters.
Expecting Nelson to take the alcohol from him, Crane raised the glass to his mouth, quickly emptying the glass, grimacing as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. Leaning forward, he reached toward the bottle, a clumsy grip as he lifted it, pouring more alcohol into the glass.
Nelson moved slowly forward, stepping around Seaview’s captain. A quick evaluation as he looked down at Crane. With an expression of concern, he said, “Something wrong, Lee?”
Crane had expected admonishment, anger, even pity. He hadn’t expected understanding. In a way, he wanted to admit what was wrong, to talk about his inability to face Patterson with someone who understood but he didn’t want to reveal his cowardice to a man he admired and respected. Went on the defensive instead, the alcohol fuelling his frustration.
“What makes you think . . . something’s wrong?”
“You’re drunk.”
Crane smiled, lips twitching with amusement as he looked up at Nelson. “I prefer the term, intoxicated.”
“Why?” said Nelson, pulling out a chair and sitting down to face Crane.
“Because I’m only slightly drunk.”
“No, Lee,” said Nelson with all the patience he could find. “Why are you . . . intoxicated?”
“Because I’m drinking your very expensive Scotch Whisky, Admiral,” said Crane as he took a sip of whisky, a shot of Dutch courage to prove his point.
Nelson turned away, hiding his features as he fought back a smile. Schooled his emotions, his expression and turned back to look at Crane. “Lee, why are you drinking my very expensive Scotch Whisky?”
Shifting his gaze away from the Admiral, he looked down at the glass of whisky in his hand. He couldn’t keep deflecting Nelson’s questions. Tried to think of an answer to a very simple question. Mind too slow to respond, taking too long to think of a convincing response. He could continue to put off the inevitable but that would mean having this conversation while he was sober. He could try changing the direction of the conversation or pretend to be too drunk to understand the Admiral’s questions. Knew his attempts would be useless. The Admiral, his friend, knew him too well. Nelson would see through the lies, the avoidance tactics.
“All right, Lee, I can see you don’t want to talk about it but I believe I know what’s bothering you--”
“Then why ask?” Crane snapped. He closed his eyes in regret, breath catching in his throat. Opened his eyes and lifted his gaze to look at Nelson. “I’m sorry, Admiral. I shouldn’t . . .”
“Does it have something to do with our previous mission?” said Nelson, waving off Crane’s apology. “Perhaps you’re feeling guilty because Patterson and I were injured during the mission. You know, I felt the same way after the Krueger incident when I shot you.”
Definitely knew him too well. He couldn’t see any other choice, nothing that would convince or deter Nelson away from the conversation Crane didn’t want to have. If he didn’t speak now, he would have to speak later. Best to do it now. Lifting his legs away from the table, he sat up, a direct line of sight.
“I don’t consider myself a coward, Admiral, but I . . . I can’t face him. I tried to kill him. Patterson could have died.”
“But he didn’t, Lee. Doc said he’ll be fine.”
Crane shook his head, not convinced. “If my aim had been more accurate . . .”
“It wasn’t--”
“Don’t placate me, Admiral! I could have killed him.”
“Maybe you don’t remember, but you also tried to kill me.”
“I know, Admiral, believe me, I know. You’re explanation of events was very detailed.”
“But you don’t feel guilty about shooting me.”
“I do feel guilty. It’s just . . . we’ve both been through the same experience. You understand how I feel. I don’t have to worry about you blaming me and not accepting my apology.”
Nelson frowned. “You haven’t spoken to Patterson yet?”
“No. Oh, I’ve tried but,” said Crane, pausing as he ran a hand over his scalp, fingers brushing through his hair. “Would you think less of me if I told you I’m afraid to talk to him?”
“No, Lee, I wouldn’t.”
“Dutch courage,” said Lee, as he raised his glass, emptying it with one swallow.
“I see,” said Nelson.
“It’s happened once too often, Admiral. I’m beginning to doubt myself. What if . . . The next time it happens . . . I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I killed one of my men or you.”
Nelson drew in a slow, deep breath . . . a slow release and said, “This isn’t your fault, Lee. An alien force was controlling you. There was nothing you could do.”
Crane released a humourless laugh. “What is it about me that aliens . . . creatures find so easy to manipulate? Is my mind so weak . . . why don’t I fight back? Why do I allow them to control my mind and body?”
Nelson couldn’t stop the confusion appearing, forehead creasing with unease. “Lee, this isn’t the first time this has happened to you. Why is it bothering you now?”
“Patterson almost died because I allowed an alien force to control me,” said Crane, voice rising with anger. “Because I was too weak to fight back.”
“Lee, you are not weak and if you were able to fight back, you would have.”
Looking away, Crane shook his head in denial and guilt. “I should have done more.”
“Lee, do you consider me to be weak?”
“No, of course I don’t,” said Crane as he looked back at Nelson.
“Just like you, my mind has been taken over and controlled on more than one occasion.”
“Sure, Krueger controlled you but you also did it to save the crew. There was no reason for me to shoot Patterson.”
“Lee, you did not shoot Patterson. The alien controlling you pulled the trigger.”
Releasing a huff of breath, a rush of frustration through gritted teeth, Crane said, “I’m struggling to believe that, Admiral.”
“I’ve tried to kill crewmembers while under the control of another force . . . alien, creature and man. When I was brainwashed, I almost killed you a second time. Do you think I could have done more? Do you believe I should have fought harder against the thing controlling me?”
Crane smiled. “If I say no you will have proven your point.”
“Then say no,” said Nelson. “There was nothing you could have done, Lee.”
“Maybe, Admiral.”
“If you accept that you’re weak then you are accusing me of weakness.”
It was hard to argue with his friend. Nelson had a point. The Admiral was one of the strongest men he knew, would ever know. If the Admiral couldn’t fight back then how could he expect to do so himself. Felt a flicker of acceptance . . .
“No,” said Crane.
Nelson nodded in acceptance. “When I brought you back from that island . . . you were in sickbay fighting for your life . . . “
Crane could remember very little of his time in sickbay, only the confusion between reality and the nightmares that had plagued him during his delirium. Only a detailed explanation of previous events had put his thoughts and memories into a more cohesive order. He waited for Nelson to continue but the Admiral remained silent, thoughtful. Recognising the expression his friend wore, Crane waited, knowing Nelson was struggling with his thoughts . . . his emotions.
“Doc wasn’t confident of your recovery,” said Nelson, gaze steady as he looked back at Crane. “The guilt I felt was enormous. It felt like a weight heavy on my shoulders and of course, I blamed myself for what happened. I believed I could have done more, fought harder but was able to do neither. Lee, the thing that scared me more than the thought of you dying was that you died before I could apologise to you. I wanted to explain why I shot you and I couldn’t. If you had died without knowing the truth, you would have gone to your grave thinking I had wanted you dead.
“When your condition began to improve and you regained consciousness . . . the way you looked at me. I saw the anger and blame you felt toward me. Lee, I thought I’d lost a good, dear friend. I was so certain you wouldn’t listen to my explanation or accept my apology. It took too many attempts to talk to you about what happened. I was scared of what you would think. But you did listen and you accepted my apology because you, Lee Crane, are a good man. I should have trusted your instincts, your ability to forgive. Lee, trust Pat to do the same. He’s a good man. He’ll listen and he’ll forgive. Just like you did.”
The Admiral was right. He needed to trust Patterson. He needed to give the man the opportunity to make his own choice. To decide if should lay blame directly on Crane’s shoulders or accept the circumstances leading to his injury . . .
“You’re right, Admiral,” said Crane, placing the empty glass on the table. He stood up, pushing his chair away . . . stumbled, the alcohol damaging his balance.
Nelson stood up, reaching toward Crane, stopping when Crane held up his hand.
“I’m all right. I can make it to sick bay.”
“I’m sure you can,” said Nelson, a chuckle escaping.
Crane nodded, turned and walked away.
.
.
.
Nothing had changed, Patterson still asleep, his position the same. Quietly dragging a small chair with him, Crane moved forward, stopping beside the bunk bed. Not wanting to wake Patterson, Crane sat down on the chair and waited.
He could do this, Nelson’s assurances resting at the back of his mind. He knew Patterson was a good man with a good heart, a man who was willing to die for a fellow crewmember. A man, who he hoped, would be willing to forgive.
Confidence gaining momentum, Crane knew he would be able to voice an apology, his regret and his remorse.
Previous | Next
An Organised List of Chapters
Fandom: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (TV Series)
Genre: Hurt/comfort | Angst | Horror | Science Fiction
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Captain Lee Crane, Admiral Harri Nelson, Chief Sharkey, Chip Morton, Kowalski, Patterson, Doc and Sparks.
Disclaimers: Based on the characters created by Irwin Allen.
Challenge:
Chapter Word Count: 2,561
Status: Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone story.
Summary: Commander Lee Crane, Captain of the Seaview, thought he lived a dangerous life . . . and then he met me; a writer whose only purpose in life is to physically and emotionally whump Lee Crane in a descriptive and bloody manner in a collection of short stories.
Chapter Two
Prompt: Intoxicated
Genre: Angst
Chapter Summary: Too many times, he'd lost his mind and body to sabotage, controlled and forced to do something against his will.
Episode Tag: Tag for the season 3 episode 'Shadowman'.
Limbs heavy with guilt, his movements slow, Lee Crane walked toward sickbay. Reaching the closed doorway, he stopped as he felt a tremor of doubt, of hesitation ripple through him. Shook it off and reached for the doorknob, fingers wrapping around the cold metal. A single thought, a cowardly admission . . . the closed door was a barrier, something he could use as an excuse, a reason to turn around and walk away. Return to the control room, a healthier emotionally stable environment, a place where he could concentrate on other things; only a few hours away from port, his guidance needed. A weak excuse he knew . . .
No. Not this time. He’d already put it off for too long, wasted too much time, always looking for something to justify his reason for not visiting sickbay. Could blame it on the barrage of thoughts and emotions troubling him keeping him away; too indecisive and unsure how he was going to apologise, to ask for forgiveness from a man he’d gun downed. Couldn’t understand why he found it so difficult, a verbal apology so hard to find, the words eluding him. Feeling a sudden need to retreat, to find solace . . . to think, Crane turned and looked back down the empty passageway.
It would be so easy to walk away, to come back . . .
Opened the door and stepped into sickbay, stopping just inside the doorway, out of sight. If Doc saw him, there would be no escape.
Patterson lay in one of the lower bunk beds, eyes closed, body still, his right shoulder bandaged and his arm strapped to his chest. A stab of emotion crushed Crane’s chest, a tight band of guilt and remorse. Knew he should be grateful it hadn’t been worse, thankfully his aim had been inaccurate, only one shot of two causing serious damage.
Only one shot needed.
One shot was enough to almost kill a man and push his Skipper into a guilt-ridden slump.
Looking away, Crane grimaced. He had to be weak of mind, could think of no other way to explain it; too many times, he’d lost his mind and body to sabotage, controlled and forced to do things against his will. There was no memory, no recollection of what he’d done, always informed after the event was over. No one hurt during the previous incidents but this time it had been different . . . this time he’d shot the Admiral and Patterson.
He had almost killed Patterson.
He didn’t have to imagine what Patterson was thinking, a collision of emotions no doubt; a mixture of disbelief, anger and blame. Crane had felt the same emotions after the Admiral had shot Seaview’s captain. It wasn’t until later, when he discovered the reason why Nelson had taken such drastic measures that Crane had been able to forgive and accept what his friend had done. Crane wasn’t sure if Patterson would forgive or forget after he received an explanation.
Crane felt a moment of relief, his guilt increasing as he came up with another excuse to put off a conversation he wasn’t ready for, still no idea how to apologise. With Patterson asleep, he could put off his apology a little longer . . .
Feeling like a coward, Crane turned and walked out of sickbay.
.
.
.
With the crash doors closed behind him, Crane took another sip of Nelson’s very expensive Scotch Whisky. Slumping further down into the chair, he lifted his legs, resting crossed ankles on the edge of the table. Allowed his head to fall back and closed his eyes. He’d hoped the alcohol would deaden the emotions, the anxiety he felt. He hoped to drink enough Dutch courage to allow him to return to sickbay and apologise before they reached port, home base only an hour away.
It wasn’t working. Not yet.
Crane could almost feel the yellow streak embracing his spine. He wasn’t a coward and if asked he would admit to moments of anxiety, of fear when in a life-threatening situation; a natural healthy reaction, something wrong if he didn’t feel such emotions when lives were at risk. He was always able to work with the fear, taking advantage of the shot of adrenaline it gave him, gaining strength from it.
In this situation, the anxiety was in control, a debilitating fear. He would rather face a sea monster than Patterson. Felt confident he could take down three armed men with only his bare hands. Convinced he could easily outthink an intelligent alien.
But right now, when it mattered . . . when his courage was needed . . . he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t face Patterson.
In this situation, he was a coward.
As the thoughts continued to stumble through his mind, the alcohol slowing down his thought process, Crane opened his eyes and took another mouthful of alcohol. Not enough courage gained, he may have to drink the entire bottle before he returned to sickbay.
Frowned when he heard footsteps on the stairwell. He’d left orders he wasn’t to be disturbed. Turned his head, looking back over his left shoulder, ready to berate the unwanted intrusion with frustration and anger. Snapped his mouth shut before he could utter a single word. The sight of Admiral Nelson, his left arm in a sling, shut down the verbal reprimand Crane was ready and willing to unleash.
With a heavy weight in his chest, Crane turned back, gaze looking through the observation windows. Nothing to see, only clear waters ahead but inside Seaview, Crane was sure he was about to wade through murky waters.
Expecting Nelson to take the alcohol from him, Crane raised the glass to his mouth, quickly emptying the glass, grimacing as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. Leaning forward, he reached toward the bottle, a clumsy grip as he lifted it, pouring more alcohol into the glass.
Nelson moved slowly forward, stepping around Seaview’s captain. A quick evaluation as he looked down at Crane. With an expression of concern, he said, “Something wrong, Lee?”
Crane had expected admonishment, anger, even pity. He hadn’t expected understanding. In a way, he wanted to admit what was wrong, to talk about his inability to face Patterson with someone who understood but he didn’t want to reveal his cowardice to a man he admired and respected. Went on the defensive instead, the alcohol fuelling his frustration.
“What makes you think . . . something’s wrong?”
“You’re drunk.”
Crane smiled, lips twitching with amusement as he looked up at Nelson. “I prefer the term, intoxicated.”
“Why?” said Nelson, pulling out a chair and sitting down to face Crane.
“Because I’m only slightly drunk.”
“No, Lee,” said Nelson with all the patience he could find. “Why are you . . . intoxicated?”
“Because I’m drinking your very expensive Scotch Whisky, Admiral,” said Crane as he took a sip of whisky, a shot of Dutch courage to prove his point.
Nelson turned away, hiding his features as he fought back a smile. Schooled his emotions, his expression and turned back to look at Crane. “Lee, why are you drinking my very expensive Scotch Whisky?”
Shifting his gaze away from the Admiral, he looked down at the glass of whisky in his hand. He couldn’t keep deflecting Nelson’s questions. Tried to think of an answer to a very simple question. Mind too slow to respond, taking too long to think of a convincing response. He could continue to put off the inevitable but that would mean having this conversation while he was sober. He could try changing the direction of the conversation or pretend to be too drunk to understand the Admiral’s questions. Knew his attempts would be useless. The Admiral, his friend, knew him too well. Nelson would see through the lies, the avoidance tactics.
“All right, Lee, I can see you don’t want to talk about it but I believe I know what’s bothering you--”
“Then why ask?” Crane snapped. He closed his eyes in regret, breath catching in his throat. Opened his eyes and lifted his gaze to look at Nelson. “I’m sorry, Admiral. I shouldn’t . . .”
“Does it have something to do with our previous mission?” said Nelson, waving off Crane’s apology. “Perhaps you’re feeling guilty because Patterson and I were injured during the mission. You know, I felt the same way after the Krueger incident when I shot you.”
Definitely knew him too well. He couldn’t see any other choice, nothing that would convince or deter Nelson away from the conversation Crane didn’t want to have. If he didn’t speak now, he would have to speak later. Best to do it now. Lifting his legs away from the table, he sat up, a direct line of sight.
“I don’t consider myself a coward, Admiral, but I . . . I can’t face him. I tried to kill him. Patterson could have died.”
“But he didn’t, Lee. Doc said he’ll be fine.”
Crane shook his head, not convinced. “If my aim had been more accurate . . .”
“It wasn’t--”
“Don’t placate me, Admiral! I could have killed him.”
“Maybe you don’t remember, but you also tried to kill me.”
“I know, Admiral, believe me, I know. You’re explanation of events was very detailed.”
“But you don’t feel guilty about shooting me.”
“I do feel guilty. It’s just . . . we’ve both been through the same experience. You understand how I feel. I don’t have to worry about you blaming me and not accepting my apology.”
Nelson frowned. “You haven’t spoken to Patterson yet?”
“No. Oh, I’ve tried but,” said Crane, pausing as he ran a hand over his scalp, fingers brushing through his hair. “Would you think less of me if I told you I’m afraid to talk to him?”
“No, Lee, I wouldn’t.”
“Dutch courage,” said Lee, as he raised his glass, emptying it with one swallow.
“I see,” said Nelson.
“It’s happened once too often, Admiral. I’m beginning to doubt myself. What if . . . The next time it happens . . . I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I killed one of my men or you.”
Nelson drew in a slow, deep breath . . . a slow release and said, “This isn’t your fault, Lee. An alien force was controlling you. There was nothing you could do.”
Crane released a humourless laugh. “What is it about me that aliens . . . creatures find so easy to manipulate? Is my mind so weak . . . why don’t I fight back? Why do I allow them to control my mind and body?”
Nelson couldn’t stop the confusion appearing, forehead creasing with unease. “Lee, this isn’t the first time this has happened to you. Why is it bothering you now?”
“Patterson almost died because I allowed an alien force to control me,” said Crane, voice rising with anger. “Because I was too weak to fight back.”
“Lee, you are not weak and if you were able to fight back, you would have.”
Looking away, Crane shook his head in denial and guilt. “I should have done more.”
“Lee, do you consider me to be weak?”
“No, of course I don’t,” said Crane as he looked back at Nelson.
“Just like you, my mind has been taken over and controlled on more than one occasion.”
“Sure, Krueger controlled you but you also did it to save the crew. There was no reason for me to shoot Patterson.”
“Lee, you did not shoot Patterson. The alien controlling you pulled the trigger.”
Releasing a huff of breath, a rush of frustration through gritted teeth, Crane said, “I’m struggling to believe that, Admiral.”
“I’ve tried to kill crewmembers while under the control of another force . . . alien, creature and man. When I was brainwashed, I almost killed you a second time. Do you think I could have done more? Do you believe I should have fought harder against the thing controlling me?”
Crane smiled. “If I say no you will have proven your point.”
“Then say no,” said Nelson. “There was nothing you could have done, Lee.”
“Maybe, Admiral.”
“If you accept that you’re weak then you are accusing me of weakness.”
It was hard to argue with his friend. Nelson had a point. The Admiral was one of the strongest men he knew, would ever know. If the Admiral couldn’t fight back then how could he expect to do so himself. Felt a flicker of acceptance . . .
“No,” said Crane.
Nelson nodded in acceptance. “When I brought you back from that island . . . you were in sickbay fighting for your life . . . “
Crane could remember very little of his time in sickbay, only the confusion between reality and the nightmares that had plagued him during his delirium. Only a detailed explanation of previous events had put his thoughts and memories into a more cohesive order. He waited for Nelson to continue but the Admiral remained silent, thoughtful. Recognising the expression his friend wore, Crane waited, knowing Nelson was struggling with his thoughts . . . his emotions.
“Doc wasn’t confident of your recovery,” said Nelson, gaze steady as he looked back at Crane. “The guilt I felt was enormous. It felt like a weight heavy on my shoulders and of course, I blamed myself for what happened. I believed I could have done more, fought harder but was able to do neither. Lee, the thing that scared me more than the thought of you dying was that you died before I could apologise to you. I wanted to explain why I shot you and I couldn’t. If you had died without knowing the truth, you would have gone to your grave thinking I had wanted you dead.
“When your condition began to improve and you regained consciousness . . . the way you looked at me. I saw the anger and blame you felt toward me. Lee, I thought I’d lost a good, dear friend. I was so certain you wouldn’t listen to my explanation or accept my apology. It took too many attempts to talk to you about what happened. I was scared of what you would think. But you did listen and you accepted my apology because you, Lee Crane, are a good man. I should have trusted your instincts, your ability to forgive. Lee, trust Pat to do the same. He’s a good man. He’ll listen and he’ll forgive. Just like you did.”
The Admiral was right. He needed to trust Patterson. He needed to give the man the opportunity to make his own choice. To decide if should lay blame directly on Crane’s shoulders or accept the circumstances leading to his injury . . .
“You’re right, Admiral,” said Crane, placing the empty glass on the table. He stood up, pushing his chair away . . . stumbled, the alcohol damaging his balance.
Nelson stood up, reaching toward Crane, stopping when Crane held up his hand.
“I’m all right. I can make it to sick bay.”
“I’m sure you can,” said Nelson, a chuckle escaping.
Crane nodded, turned and walked away.
.
.
.
Nothing had changed, Patterson still asleep, his position the same. Quietly dragging a small chair with him, Crane moved forward, stopping beside the bunk bed. Not wanting to wake Patterson, Crane sat down on the chair and waited.
He could do this, Nelson’s assurances resting at the back of his mind. He knew Patterson was a good man with a good heart, a man who was willing to die for a fellow crewmember. A man, who he hoped, would be willing to forgive.
Confidence gaining momentum, Crane knew he would be able to voice an apology, his regret and his remorse.
An Organised List of Chapters