Title: Strange Daze
Author: Whimsicle-1
Feedback: Always welcome at Whimsicle.dreams@gmail.com
Disclaimer: The vast majority of the characters, props, and setting belong to Amblin Entertainment, but I lay claim to the actual arrangement of words found herein as well as any original characters. I make no profit.
Rating: Probably PG-13 or so. There are some sexual situations, but they're pretty vague in nature.
Summary: This is set toward the end of season one and is nothing more than an excuse for some cheap one liners, sex scenes, and maybe a few moments of pathos. In short, it's all supposed to be in fun.
Author’s Notes: This was originally published on Prodigy (yes, my child, once upon a time there was an ISP named Prodigy), then in a zine I put out years ago. There is actually quite a bit of artwork, but quite a bit of it is...well...not so good (pencil sketches, old scanner, poor digital art techniques...ack!). I'm trying to at least rescan some of it (the better stuff), and will try and post when I can.
Archiving: Whimsicle Dreams, all others ask.

Strange Daze
by Whimsicle-1

Part 2

Some hours later, Nathan was pacing the length of his cabin. Alone. She’d changed her mind. It was just that simple. She’d changed her mind, she didn’t even want to speak to him, and if it was because of what he’d said to Noyce, he was going to slit his wrists.

It's amazing what unfulfilled sexual fantasies will do to the human mind.

He paced some more and debated just going to her cabin and getting it over with. She could at least tell him to get lost in person, then he could stop worrying.

Nathan was just about to pull on something a bit more formal than a robe and pajama bottoms when there was a light knock on his cabin door. He instantly spun the latch and tugged it open to find Kristin standing in the hallway. She’d changed from the dress she’d worn at the reception to jeans and a t-shirt.

"May I come in?" she asked quietly.

Nathan nodded and stepped out of the way.

"I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show," he whispered after he shut the hatch again.

Kristin pivoted to face him. "I almost didn’t," she admitted a little hesitantly.

Nathan felt as though he’d been gut punched. "I see," he exhaled. "Kristin, if it’s about what I said to Bill, I never meant—"

"It’s not," she assured him as she held up a hand to halt him.

Nathan felt his heart start to slam in his chest. It was suddenly starting to occur to him just how much she had come to mean to him, and he was terrified of losing her. "Then what?" he whispered, his voice echoing with a certain little boy vulnerability.

Kristin sat down on the edge of his bunk, and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her thighs. "I started thinking about what you asked me. Did I just sleep with you last night to get back at my father somehow?"

Oh, God, she was going to tell him she didn’t really care...Thanks, had a great time...now get lost.

"I guess it started to bother me."

"I see," Nathan responded in a voice so neutral he should have had a Swiss accent.

Kristin peered up at him for a long moment, then reached out a hand. "Nathan, come sit down. This may take a few minutes."

Bridger shook his head quickly and turned away. "That’s all right, really," he said, his voice thicker than normal. "You don’t have to make it easier on me. I understand. I won’t—"

"Will you stop that," she cut him off.

He looked over at her.

"Please sit down. I need to tell you some things and it may take a little time."

He sat.

There was a long moment of silence. It broke when Kristin uttered a soft obscenity. "This is harder than I thought it would be," she sighed disgustedly.

"Look, you don’t have to be kind—" He started to say.

"I’m not," she exploded. "I’m just...oh, hell..."

Nathan stared at her, waiting.

"Do you remember when you lobbied for the funds to build seaQuest?"

"Huh?" Nathan questioned, suddenly nonplused. "Yeah, I suppose."

"So do I," Kristin murmured.

"I remember," Nathan dredged up a conversation they’d had some months earlier, when Scott Keller discovered his Martian snail sample. "You said you saw the hearings."

Kristin nodded, and started to say something, only to snap her mouth shut. She dropped her chin and began studying a spot on the floor between her feet with almost scientific zeal. "Y’see, I was impressed...very impressed..."

"Kristin, what are you trying to say?" He questioned, wholly confused now.

"You were very passionate about what you believed...about seaQuest, the ocean, everything..." She rubbed the back of her neck, looking away as she mumbled, "I sort of had a...I guess you’d call it...a crush."

"What?" He asked, uncertain he had heard correctly.

Westphalen sighed softly and turned her head to look at him. "I thought you were very...attractive...extremely...attractive...very...extremely...attractive," she admitted in a none-too-thrilled manner.

Nathan’s jaw dropped. "Me?" he croaked.

"I even tried to meet you under the pretense of sharing scientific data. You were out of contact by then..."

They both fell silent, each one aware of the reason for his breaking contact with the world. His son had just died.

"Not too long after that I found out you were quite happily married...and felt like an idiot," she added miserably.

Nathan shook his head slowly, not at all certain what to say or do. "I...uh...but you didn’t recognize me when we first met on seaQuest."

Kristin’s eyebrows arched high on her forehead. "You mean in the hallway?" He nodded in confirmation and she continued, "Well, you weren’t exactly..." She hunted for a way to put it nicely.

"All spit and polish?" Nathan supplied.

"Something like that," she agreed. She glanced up briefly, then dropped her chin again and continued to stare at the spot as though it was a newly discovered life form. "When you decided to stay on as captain, I kept waiting for you to develop feet of clay...show some side of yourself that was at odds with who I had imagined you to be...and you didn’t. In fact, you were more than I expected..."

"I..." Nathan stammered. "Why tell me now?" he stumbled over his own tongue in the effort to get the words out.

"I just wanted you to know... last night...it started a long time before my father ever set foot on this boat...and while it may have been helped along by a certain alcohol related loss of inhibition," she admitted haltingly, "...it was sincerely meant."

Nathan started to speak several times, but couldn’t find any words to describe what he was feeling.

"Please say something," Kristin begged in a voice brimming over with embarrassment.

"This may be the single most ego-flattering moment of my life," Nathan exhaled at last. He reached out and tipped her chin up with one finger, drawing her head around with that light touch until their eyes met. She wasn’t the sort of woman inclined to wear her emotions on her sleeve and he could see the embarrassment and fear of rejection implicit in her confession glittering deep in her liquid brown eyes. "I can’t claim the same length of the attraction, but judging by my fantasy life over the last few months, it’s equally sincere," he teased gently.

"I really don’t normally go around mooning over men," the doctor sighed.

"Please, don’t apologize for that. I like the idea of you mooning over me."

Kristin frowned slightly. "Why do I have a feeling your ego is about to become unbearable?" she grumbled, the customary wry note reentering her tone.

"I thought I surpassed your expectations," Bridger bantered.

Westphalen shook her head. "In some ways," she allowed, "but I’m not blind to your faults."

They stared at one another for a long moment, then Nathan ducked his head, unable to resist the urge to taste. The first brush of their lips was butterfly soft, but the tempo accelerated rapidly as her mouth opened against his.

Slipping a hand under her thin t-shirt, Nathan fitted a work roughened palm to the underside of her ribcage. Her skin was warm silk to the touch and he could feel the steadily deepening rhythm of her breathing.

Neither one was ever quite certain how, but not so many minutes later he was angled over a prone Kristin, his feet still flat on the floor, her t-shirt and his robe both long gone.

Kristin suddenly pressed her palms flat on Nathan’s chest, breaking the kiss breathlessly as she pushed him back a notch. "Speaking of which," she panted.

Nathan’s skin was flushed and he was breathing hard. "We weren’t speaking," he corrected. "We were necking." And he leaned down as if to continue the activity, only to have her push him back again. He peered down at her with a frustrated expression.

Westphalen jabbed a finger into his bare chest. "We still haven’t discussed your little conversation with Bill Noyce."

"I’m sorry," Nathan apologized a little dazedly. "From the bottom of my heart, I really, truly wish I’d kept my mouth shut. If you like, I will kill Bill to make certain it goes no further...later." He leaned close again only to have her shove him back. Again.

"Kristin," Nathan whimpered pleadingly. "You want me down on my knees...I’ll get down on my knees," he offered.

  Westphalen’s eyebrows rose and a sultry grin curved her lips. "Tempting offer," she admitted as she pushed him back, and herself upright. "But not quite what I had in mind..."

Nathan found himself unable to look away from the limpid brown depths of her eyes. She trailed a single finger down the center of his chest until she found the narrow tie on the front of his pajamas. Nathan’s look became hopeful, though something in her expression left him just a little nervous.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Some time later, Nathan Bridger’s skin was slick with sweat, his breathing deep and ragged. The muscles in his arms, chest and shoulders stood out in sharp relief against his dark tan as he clung to the drawer pulls on the wall immediately over his head.

Breathing almost as hard, Kristin leaned down, bracing her palms against the mattress on either side of his head. Damp tendrils of her hair formed a protective veil around them both as she trailed her tongue down his chin.

Nathan dropped his hands away from the drawer handles, curving them to the back of her head as he guided her mouth back up to his. He moaned deep in his throat as Kristin’s body stilled against his and her mouth closed against his tongue. "Oh, God," he groaned against her lips. His eyes met and held her darker gaze with pleading intensity. "That’s my punishment, isn’t it?" he panted. "For saying the word five, I’m going to get to say the word one, but with the addenda, but it lasted all night?"

Kristin grinned and kissed the tip of his nose. "Uh-huh," she agreed cheerfully.

"I’m discovering you have a very sadistic streak."

"That’s right," she whispered as she shook loose from the light hold on her head and pushed nearly upright. She drew one finger down the center of his chest and belly. "Are you complaining?"

"No," Nathan sighed. "Just wondering what I’ve gotten myself into."

Kristin chuckled deep in her throat and arched one neat eyebrow as she stared down at him.

He reached back up, curving his fingers around the brass pulls as he muttered. "I think I’m glad I don’t own any silk scarves."

He could feel Kristin shuddering gently with laughter as she leaned back down. "I have never had to tie up a man," she insisted, then laved her tongue along a cord in his throat, outlining the rise of his adam’s apple. "Okay... once, but that doesn’t count. It was an ex-husband."

"Why isn’t that very reassuring?" Nathan asked suspiciously.

Kristin’s body slid against his, drawing a low groan of rich pleasure. She nipped the point of his chin very lightly, barely letting him feel the sharp edge of her teeth. "I didn’t do it to have my wicked way with him. He had a slight problem leaving zippers in their upright and locked position...particularly his own."

The muscles in his forearms tautened as he gripped the drawer handles almost convulsively. "Idiot," he rasped. "Did you let him live?"

"Mmhmm...though I don’t think he appreciated the favor after my attorney was done with him..."

Nathan chuckled through the hot arc of electrical pleasure that flashed along every nerve ending in his body. His back arched and a hard tremor ran along the muscles in his chest and shoulders. "Can I just say here, that I am very repentant?" he husked on a pleading note.

Kristin teased his lips with her tongue, dipping inside as his mouth opened to hers. When her mouth broke from his, it was only to blaze a tender path along his cheek, then place almost impossibly light kisses over his closed eyelids. "Sincerely repentant?’ she asked mock seriously.

"As sincere as a choir boy and repentant as the prodigal son," he responded, his voice thick with the aching compulsion. She dropped her mouth back to his and his lips clung hungrily to hers, seeking to intensify that contact when he was denied the right to touch her with his hands.

"Poor baby," his lover murmured and feathered tiny kisses along the outline of his mouth. Finally, she reached up and tugged on his wrists.

Nathan grinned as he opened his fingers, dropping his palms to cup her face in his hands, kissing her voraciously. He ranged his hands over the slick curves of her body, seeking to draw her even closer and communicate his pleasure through raw tactile sensation. Strong muscles flexed and he rolled her beneath him, paying scant mind to the grumble of protest she offered through the searching power of his mouth.

A moment later, it was her turn to groan pleadingly. She wrapped her arms around his torso, fingertips digging in to the corded muscles criss-crossing his back as she clung to his surging body. She heard his soft victory laugh as he took control of the final minutes, pushing the rough tempo until they both collapsed into the mattress, replete with pleasure.

"Cheater," Kristin groaned when she could speak again.

Nathan turned his face into the curve of her throat, too exhausted to do any more than moan in agreement.

Westphalen blinked dazedly. "Someone really needs to wash your ceiling," she noted in a somewhat off-kilter observation.

"Someone needs to put a mirror on my ceiling," Bridger corrected without moving.

Kristin nodded thoughtfully. "Think we could requisition one from the U.E.O.?"

"I’ll work on it," Nathan mumbled, shifting his body enough that he was no longer lying completely on top of her, though he kept an arm across her torso. "Krieg’d enjoy the challenge..." he added in a progressively softer voice until his low whisper trailed off into muted snores that were really little more than deep breathing.

Kristin smiled affectionately and brushed her fingers through hair at the nape of his neck. Her own eyes slid closed as she relaxed into a welcome lassitude. Soon her low breathing matched his as she too slept.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What do you mean there’s a launch requesting permission to board?" Jonathan Ford demanded of Tim O’Neill.

"Just that, sir," O'Neill said as he pointed at the request codes on his computer screen. The lieutenant looked up over his shoulder at his superior. "What should I do? They’ve got a presidential okay on this."

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. This tour was just getting stranger and stranger with every passing hour. "Tell them to hold position while you get confirmation of their clearance code," he sighed at last.

O'Neill gnawed on his lip for a moment. "Should I...uh...notify the captain?" he asked after a long moment’s consideration.

Ford debated the question for a second, then shook his head. "Let’s try to find out what’s going on before we wake him up." Bridger had last been seen heading toward Westphalen's cabin, and the last thing Jonathan wanted to do was open that particular can of worms.

"Yeah," a passing Krieg agreed, putting his own special spin on the words. "He looked like he could use the sleep."

"That’s enough, Krieg," Ford snapped automatically. "Get on it, Mister O’Neill." As the lieutenant moved to do as ordered, Jonathan rubbed his temple absent-mindedly. He’d had a headache for nearly two days and rather than letting up, it only seemed to be getting worse.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kristin woke suddenly, her breathing a little unsteady. She’d never slept well in strange places and it took her a moment to remember exactly where she was. Nathan’s cabin. She twisted in bed to find him asleep next to her, his hip pressed intimately close to hers. He lay half on his stomach, clutching a pillow to his chest like a small boy with a teddy bear. She smiled tenderly and twisted to lean over him, pressing a light kiss to his bare shoulder. He didn’t even twitch. "You sleep, luv," she murmured almost inaudibly. "You’ve earned it." She pressed another kiss to the back of his neck, then slid from bed.

She padded into the bathroom, blinking against the bright overhead lights that came on at the touch of a switch. Thankfully, the shower produced hot water almost instantly and she stepped under the stinging spray. The hot, steamy pounding of the water was a soothing influence, relaxing sore muscles and easing worried thoughts so she stayed that way for a long time, eyes closed, body relaxed. Kristin had completely lost track of time when she reached for the soap—and encountered a firm male wrist. Her eyes slid open and she peered up at Nathan as he stepped into the shower beside her.

"Was this what you were looking for?" he asked pleasantly as he held up a bar of sweet smelling soap.

"Possibly," Kristin allowed.

Nathan grinned at her questioning look. "I thought we might pick up where we stopped this morning."

Kristin’s mouth turned up in an answering smile. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"The White House has confirmed the clearance codes from the launch. According to them, she belongs to the Anklam Institute?" Tim O'Neill informed Ford.

"The what?" Jonathan questioned.

"Never heard of it before," O'Neill admitted with a shrug. "They said to bring her aboard."

Ford sighed heavily. "Tell them to come on in and notify the launch bay she’ll be docking."

Tim quickly did as ordered, then twisted in his seat to look back up at Jonathan. "Should I inform Captain Bridger?"

Ford nodded and massaged the back of his neck. "Yes," he agreed hesitantly, not liking the answer at all. Instinct told him the captain was not going to be in the least bit thrilled to get a call from the bridge. "Then see what you can find out about this Anklam Institute?"

"That’s the outfit the first lady’s astrologer runs," Ben Krieg offered as he passed by.

"Whoa," Ford snapped as he grabbed Krieg by the scruff of his shirt and tugged him back. "What are you talking about?"

"The Anklam Institute is run by Madame Celine Bovare...the psychic to the rich and famous."

"Right," Ford exhaled. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Nah." Krieg shook his head. "They’re always running ads for her phone line and computer service in the Globe...they did an article on her a couple of weeks ago. Rumor has it she sets all of the president’s campaign schedules."

"Tell me this is a joke," Ford begged no one in particular. "Why would they own a submarine?" He added a second later.

"I think they do some research with dolphins down in the cays...something about trying to discover cetacean past life regressions and whether or not they were ever human in previous reincarnations." Krieg shrugged a little helplessly.

"He’s right, sir," O'Neill offered suddenly.

Jonathan peered over at the young lieutenant. "What?" he murmured, sounding more than a little nauseous.

"The sub is listed as belonging to one Celine Bovare, owner and C.E.O. of the Anklam Institute Ltd."

Ford began massaging his temples in a slow, rhythmic pattern, hoping against hope that it would at least lessen the headache pounding there. "Notify the captain," he sighed at last.

"Aye-aye, sir."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Like that?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Right..."

"And that too."

"Clever, boy..."

"Clever girl."

Involved in their own activities, and surrounded by the sound of the shower, neither Kristin nor Nathan heard the soft beeping of the com-unit over his bed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"He’s...uh...not responding, sir," O'Neill murmured without looking back at his superior. The young lieutenant J.G. was suddenly blushing bright red. "Should I...uh..."

Krieg just grinned as he peered over O'Neill's shoulder.

Jonathan Ford resisted the urge to whimper, but only with effort. "Page Doctor Westphalen’s cabin."

Moments later, Tim sounded relieved as he said, "No answer."

Ford and Krieg looked at one another.

"Makes you kinda wonder just where they are," the lieutenant mused aloud, open speculation glittering in his eyes.

Ford just shook his head. Nope, he didn’t want to know where they were, not even a little bit.

"Sir," O'Neill broke into Ford’s dark thoughts. "The launch has almost finished docking."

"Hell," Ford muttered. "Keep trying to find the captain. I’m going to the launch bay and find out about our guests."

"Right, sir," O'Neill called to Ford’s retreating back.

"So, who do you think it is?" Ben Krieg asked as he kept easy pace with the commander.

Ford glared over at the lieutenant without slowing his pace. "I don’t recall inviting you along," he snapped peevishly.

"You didn’t," Krieg agreed. "But I just finished my shift, and I wouldn’t miss this for anything."

Ford seriously considered ordering the other man to his quarters only to give up without trying. It wasn’t like Krieg would have listened anyway.

The first inkling of what they were up against came while they were in the mag-lev. Ford’s PAL chirped for attention and the commander activated it with a touch. "Ford here, have you found the captain yet, O’Neil?"

"Actually, it’s Crocker, sir," There was a sudden, excited round of voices in the background and Crocker’s voice momentarily became distant. "I’ll be with you in a minute." The background voices didn’t go away. In fact, Ford could have sworn they increased in volume as the chief spoke directly into the microphone. "I thought you oughta know, one of the guests is..." he broke away again, nearly shouting to make himself heard over the rabble. "Be quiet!" He was panting softly when he returned to the microphone and stress was evident in his normally cool tones. "One of the guests is the Doc’s mom, and...oh, hell."

There was a near explosion of sound over the PAL.

"I gotta go, sir."

"Right," Ford mumbled a moment after Crocker had already cut the connection. He looked over at Krieg, who shrugged.

"Be afraid," Ben advised at last. "Be very afraid."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Whatever Jonathan Ford expected to find when he reached the launch, it didn’t match the unreality of the actual situation. Nothing in Jonathan Ford’s imagination could have matched reality at that point.

A woman who couldn’t have been more than four foot ten inches tall and nearly as wide, wearing a purple and fuscia muumuu and cranberry red hair---all of which clashed with near-nuclear force---was planted in front of Crocker, punching a solid finger into the security chief’s burly chest. "Zhew well do az told!" she bellowed at him in a heavy European accent that Jonathan couldn’t even begin to place.

Whatever Ford had expected Westphalen’s mother to look like, that wasn’t it.

"Ma’am, I can’t...not without permission," Crocker said helplessly as he silently begged Ford for help.

"Zhew well do az told!" she repeated and waved a finger in Crocker's face. "Ah ave zee air of zee prezeedent."

Ford barely noticed a second woman who was still half in the launch with her back to them, but Krieg’s eyes went straight to her, or at least to the view presented by her tight black denims.

"’Scuse me, Chief, Mrs. Westphalen," Jonathan broke into the screaming match, and suddenly found himself the target of a pair of bright bird eyes set behind thick rimmed bifocals.

"Ahnd zhew aire?" the diminutive harridan demanded.

Ford shoved out a hand. "Commander Jonathan Ford, of the seaQuest, Mrs. Westphalen, welcome aboard."

She ignored his hand and treated him to a flurry in a language that might have been French, Italian, or maybe even Spanish—possibly even all three.

"Uh, Ma’am?" Ford squeaked.

"Celine!" the bellow broke across the small crowd, silencing even the screaming, muumuu clad redhead.

All eyes turned toward the shuttle except Krieg’s. They were already there and bugged halfway out of their sockets.

The second woman turned toward them and Jonathan Ford’s jaw dropped on several counts. Firstly, she had a body that was more than pleasant to look at and nicely revealed by the tight denims and a black blouse that barely qualified as half buttoned. Secondly, she’d managed to shut up Crocker’s tormentor with a single word. And lastly, as she tipped up a pair of heavily shaded sunglasses, it was apparent that she had the same face as the seaQuest’s chief scientist, minus some fifteen to twenty years.

Krieg’s tongue lolled loose from his open mouth as she drew nearer with a loose limbed, rocker-wannabe gait that made even Jonathan Ford’s ever-steady pulse do a rumba beat.

"Commander," the low voice, every bit as accented as Kristin’s but far less clipped, broke over Jonathan as her hand met his.

"Uhhhh," Ford murmured in one his wittier moments.

A slow grin traced the young woman’s full lips as she gently but firmly tugged her hand out of his grasp and pushed her dark hair away from her face. Her eyes, Ford noticed were green rather than brown, and the occasional sensual hint that glittered in Kristin’s eyes had been multiplied and mutated into a an expression of raw sexual promise. "I’m Theresa Westphalen...my friends call me Terry."

"I’ll be your friend," Krieg promised instantly. Of course, at that point Krieg would have promised to have her baby if it would have gotten him noticed.

Jonathan bit the inside of his mouth to kill the desire to grin stupidly in response and straightened his shoulders in a valiant effort to present a professional image. "Jonathan Ford," Ford clipped in his best military efficiency voice.

Terry arched one eyebrow. "Commander...I think there’s a slight misunderstanding here." She glanced over at Crocker who nodded.

"Uh-huh," the chief agreed. "Misunderstanding."

"This is Celine Bovare," she informed them with a loose gesture to tiny gorgon, who had turned her bright glare from Crocker to the newcomer.

Bovare stuffed a sausage shaped finger into Terry’s face. "Zhew well get z’em to transfair my luggage, or zhor nex sheck...et weell bounze."

The overt sensual promise that had glittered in Westphalen’s eyes winked out and a harassed sneer turned one corner of her mouth up in cool mockery of a smile. "Of course, Celine," she agreed with dislike.

"But you said—" Ford started to speak to Crocker, who only shrugged.

"She was here just a minute ago," the chief said helplessly.

Terry peered around the launch bay. "If you’re looking for Gran—it’s Doctor Westphalen, by the way, not Mrs.—it looks like she already took off. Probably trying to find Aunt Kris."

"Already took off?" Ford repeated in an appalled voice. "She can’t just go running around seaQuest. It’s not...safe." Though whether it was the latest Westphalen to board the seaQuest or the ship itself that was in danger, Ford hadn’t really decided.

Terry waved the idea off. "Oh, don’t worry ‘bout Gran. She gets around quite nicely."

If the young woman had been clairvoyant, she’d have realized that was exactly what Ford was afraid of...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"That’s a very silly grin," Kristin commented idly as she reached out to trace her lover’s upturned mouth.

Nathan nipped her finger. "Don’t blame me," he said without arguing. "You put it there."

Kristin leaned against him and felt his arms slip around her waist. "I did, didn’t I?" she teased as she ran a finger lightly through the whorls of hair on his chest.

"Well, it wasn’t the tooth fairy," Nathan joked and ducked his head to taste her mouth languorously.

The sudden knock on the hatch snapped both their heads around.

"Oh, hell," Nathan growled in frustration. He glanced over and noted the tiny red message light blinking on the communications console. "It must be Ford," he muttered as he scrambled into his robe. "He probably decided to check personally when I didn’t answer the page." He paused to peer at her. "You’d better...er..."

"Hide in the bathroom?" Kristin offered helpfully.

"Right," Nathan exhaled. "Sorry."

She shrugged and slipped into the bathroom, tugging the door shut behind herself.

The insistent knock came again. "Just a moment," Nathan called. Kristin’s bra was tossed over the back of the desk chair and he stuffed it in his pocket even as he reached for the hatch. "Commander, I..." he started to say only to pull up short, the words dying on his lips as he realized that his late night visitor wasn’t Jonathan Ford.

The woman waiting at his cabin door turned a pair of intense dark eyes on Nathan and he froze like a rabbit in the headlights. It was Kristin...different, but somehow all too close to the same. The dark eyes were the same, the bone structure was the same...

His eyes locked on the hair color. That at least was different. Blonde and perfectly styled where his lover’s was auburn and inclined to be caught up at the nape of her neck in untidy curls. The clothes were different too. Her cream suit was perfectly tailored and matched to the silk shawl slung casually over her narrow shoulders. No, Kristin rarely wore anything even half that formal. He abruptly realized that she was also older than his initial impression, though the cues were subtle ones.

Nathan tried to speak again, but the words died in his throat as she held up one slim hand from which dangled a teardrop-shaped crystal on a delicate gold chain. The gem spun at her gentle insistence and the facets picked up the light, scattering colors and holding Nathan’s attention perfectly riveted. It was as though he was briefly imprisoned by something beyond his ken.

Suddenly, she flicked her wrist, throwing the delicate crystal into her palm and dropped her hand to her side.

Nathan shook his head and blinked, momentarily confused. "I..." he croaked. "Who..."

She smiled slightly. "Jessica Westphalen," she murmured.

Nathan stuffed his hands even deeper in the pockets of his robe. "And?’ he prompted a little helplessly.

"Doctor Jessica Westphalen," the woman clarified. "Author of several books and a whole fleet of Psychology Today articles, researcher, lecturer, professor..." At his slightly blank look, she shifted gears with a soft sigh. "Mother to Kristin and James, wife to Andrew..." She paused for a beat, visibly debating whether or not to go on listing her personal resumé.

Nathan laughed nervously, trying desperately to pretend that this woman’s daughter wasn’t hiding in his bathroom. "That Jessica Westphalen," he said in an attempt at humor that fell flat. "I...I’m Nathan—"

"Bridger," she finished for him with a slightly patronizing smile. "Yes, I know. You’re Captain Nathan Bridger."

"Yes," Nathan agreed dazedly. "What are...how did you...get here."

Jessica’s eyebrows rose. "By boat?" she offered unhelpfully, amusement lurking in her dark eyes.

Nathan stiffened slightly. Great, she was laughing at him. He was beginning to seriously doubt his sanity for ever leaving his nice, quiet island. Things like this never happened on his island. However, he was here now, which meant he had to deal with the situation. He considered his options and finally settled on the rather banal question. "Is there something I can do for you?"

She ran an assessing gaze over Nathan, starting at his bare toes and winding up at his still wet hair.

He barely squelched the urge to run a smoothing hand over the damp strands that fell across his brow.

One neat eyebrow arched high on her forehead. "I’m really not quite certain what to say to that, Captain...so in the interest of tact, would you let my daughter know I’ve come aboard the next time you...um…see her?"

"I’ll let her know in the morning," Nathan said hopefully, his voice climbing a note on the last syllable.

He got a gently chiding look in return. "Somehow this just doesn’t look like your size," Jessica Westphalen murmured as she held up a delicate lace bra for him to see.

Nathan’s eyes and hand instantly snapped down to his now empty pocket, then back up to the woman standing in front of him. "How did you..." he started to ask, only to cut himself off as he realized what he was admitting. He laughed nervously and flashed a forced smile. "This isn’t what it looks like," he said too quickly, then fell silent. The problem was, it was exactly what it looked like, and he couldn’t even think of anything else it could possibly be. Nathan was entirely new to the concept of sneaking around and none too talented at it either.

Westphalen’s expression was a confounding mix of amused and doubtful. "If that’s the case," she peered at the bra, then back up at him, "I’m amazed you’ve done this well in the navy." She tucked the scrap of fabric back into his pocket for him. "However…relax," she whispered as she leaned in close. "I’m not my husband. I realize that my daughter is adult, professional woman, quite capable of looking after herself and making her own decisions concerning who she invites into her life."

Nathan let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding.

"However," Jessica continued and something in her dark eyes sent a bolt of terror through him. "You might want to remember that I love my daughter very dearly, and for some reason I’ve never quite gotten over that maternal, protective urge. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" It was phrased as a warning, but came out as a threat.

"I...uh..." Bridger stammered.

Jessica saw the expression and it drew an approving smile. She shifted her hand and crystal slipped to the end of its chain, twirling merrily as it sent shards of light scattering through the corridor. "You see, most people make the mistake of thinking Andrew is the vicious one in the family. I suppose it’s all the blustering he does," she informed him in a pleasantly conversational tone.

Bridger swallowed hard. "He isn’t, is he?"

She shook her head.

"You are?"

A slow nod of confirmation. "The worst thing Andrew would do to you is try to break your jaw..." A slow, feral smile curved her full lips. "Sometime when you’re not...er…busy, ask Kristin about her ex-husbands."

"Right," Nathan groaned.

He was still standing there like that, unable to think of a single thing to say when she abruptly straightened and flashed him a too sweet smile. "Be seeing you, Captain." Despite the sugary tone of voice, there was a steel spine of promise to the words that made Nathan sweat.

"Nice to meet you," he murmured with the same thrilled tone that he had once used when automatically thanking a police officer for handing him a traffic ticket.

Jessica let out a low, throaty laugh as she turned and strode away.

Hands braced on either side of the hatchway, Nathan leaned out of his cabin, watching her until she turned into a nearby corridor. When he had the door closed again, he just leaned his head against the cool steel. He vaguely heard the sound of the bathroom door opening, then Kristin’s voice reached his ears.

"So, what did Jonathan want?" she croaked the last word as she saw his posture. "Nathan, is something wrong?"

Forehead still pressed against the door, Nathan held up both hands in a helpless shrug.

There was a long pause.

"Oh, God, my mother’s here." Kristin exhaled in a voice thick with dread.

Nathan spun and stared. "How’d you know that?"

Kristin had wrapped a towel around her torso during the lull and was in the middle of brushing the tangles out of her hair. She canted her head to one side, her expression a mix of defensive and apprehensive. "Would you believe experience?"

Nathan envisioned the woman in the hall and nodded, then had to force down a bubble of unstrung laughter as a stray thought occurred to him. "At least I know where you get it now," he muttered to himself.

"Get what?" Kristin demanded, visibly baffled.

"The stripper walk," he answered distantly and without thinking.

Westphalen shook her head, still bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

Bridger turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose exhaustedly as he muttered. "It’s not important. I’d better find out what the—"

The com panel beeped for attention as if it had been perfectly cued. "Bridger here," Nathan snapped and he hurried over to activate the intercom.

"Cap, this is Crocker. I thought you oughta know, we’ve just got some more guests aboard."

"Yeah, I know," Nathan sighed. "I just met one of them."

"Real attractive blonde. If you do the math, has to be older than she looks?"

"That’s the one," Nathan agreed, smiling slightly over Crocker’s description.

There was a low, whistling sound on the other end of the connection. "She’s good. She’s only been gone ten or fifteen minutes."

"Which reminds me, what is a civilian doing running around the seaQuest on her own?"

"There was kind of a...uh…distraction at the time. She just slipped out."

"Blast it, Crocker," Nathan started to lose his temper only to rein it in. "What else do I need to know?" he demanded.

"There are two more," the security chief sighed. "A woman named Celine Bovare...owns something called the Anklam Institute—"

"Oh, good God," Kristin growled, momentarily forgetting their situation.

"Sir?" Crocker questioned.

Nathan flashed Kristin a silencing glare and she mouthed the word, "Sorry."

"Ignore it, Chief," Nathan grumbled.

"Ah...right...and a second woman...Theresa Westphalen."

"Lock up your sons," Kristin exhaled and began pulling on her clothes.

Bridger sent her another quelling glance, but this time she only shrugged it off with a certain pessimistic resignation.

"Cap?" Crocker prompted when Bridger didn’t say any more.

Nathan sighed heavily. "Just get them settled in guest quarters, then—" he was cut off by a persistent chirp that signaled a call from the bridge. "Look, I’ve got to take that."

"Right, sir."

Nathan flicked a switch. "Bridger here," he clipped.

"This is O’Neill, sir. Commander Ford’s been looking for you."

"I gather," Nathan sighed.

"I’ll...uh...connect you through to his com-unit."

"You do that." There was a moment’s silence, then a soft clicking sound signaled a new connection.

"Ford here," Jonathan’s voice sounded slightly tinny through the minuscule microphones in the PAL.

"Commander, I gather things have been...exciting..." Nathan said dryly.

There was a momentary pause. "You could say that," Jonathan muttered. "You’ve heard about our guests, then?"

"Mm, Crocker just called. Get them settled, and for God’s sake, make sure they have escorts...everywhere."

"Uh, Commander," Ben Krieg’s voice was barely audible in the background.

"One moment, sir." There was a momentary lull during which Nathan could hear voices, but couldn't make out the words, until finally Ford came back online. He hemmed and hawed for a moment.

"Out with it," Nathan snapped impatiently.

"Apparently Ms. Westphalen also managed to slip away during a distraction," Ford exhaled the last part in a rush.

"Of course," Nathan sighed and worked one hand through his hair. He momentarily considered asking what the distraction had been, then decided he didn’t want to know. "Find her," he growled, frustration leaking through his normally cool voice. "And let’s see if we can get this boat back under control."

"Right, sir," Ford murmured, though something about his tone indicated that he had doubts it was possible.

"Bridger, out." Nathan grumbled and clicked the communication off. When he looked back at Kristin, she was fully dressed except for her shoes.

She met his grim expression with a vaguely embarrassed shrug. "I feel like I should apologize."

Nathan’s expression didn’t soften.

"I know they’re a bit eccentric," Kristin babbled, "but they mean well."

He arched an eyebrow, but otherwise remained stone-faced.

"Well, it’s not my fault," she snapped defensively. "I certainly didn’t invite them aboard."

He sighed, almost seeming to deflate as he sank down onto his bunk. "True," he allowed, then let his head fall forward into his hands. "Just tell me what I’m up against," he begged, sounding like a general facing a vastly superior army.

Kristin’s head tipped to one side as she considered the request. "Well," she said, drawing the single word out on a long breath. "Did you ever watch the Animaniacs when you were young?"

The question earned her a sublimely dirty look.

"Sorry," Westphalen exhaled. She gnawed on her lower lip for a moment before trying again, this time in a more serious vein. "Well, Mother is a very well respected psychiatrist who’s primary work these days is involved in researching..."

"What?" Nathan prompted forbiddingly when she trailed off.

Kristin looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Would you believe modern man’s need to believe in urban legend and modern mythology?"

The slight narrowing of his eyes told her he wouldn’t.

"All right, she investigates the paranormal...psychics, ghosts, the odd vampire...that sort of thing," Kristin admitted on an flustered note

Nathan massaged his temple. "Of course," he mumbled. "Doesn’t everyone’s mother?"

"Well, it’s not my fault..." Kristin shrugged helplessly.

"Is that why she spun a crystal when she talking to me...trying to divine my aura or something?"

Westphalen winced. "Ah...no...she was undoubtedly trying to decide if you’re susceptible to hypnosis."

Something about the discomfort in his lover’s expression set off warning bells in Nathan’s brain. "Why?" he questioned grimly.

Kristin’s gaze broke from his. "I don’t recommend you upset her," she mumbled.

"Why?" Bridger demanded again, a touch of panic creeping into his voice.

"Well, I really can’t say..." she admitted. "But my last ex-husband wound up barking like dog on the floor of parliament. Actually, that wasn’t the worst part..."

Nathan peered at her for a long moment, then suddenly shook his head and held up a hand, halting anything else she might have said. "I don’t think I want to know," he admitted.

"No," she agreed. "You probably don’t."

"What about—" whatever he had been about to ask was cut off by a series of sharp raps on his door to the rhythm of Shave and a haircut.

Westphalen’s hand snapped out and she flipped the latch, tugging the door open several inches before Nathan could protest. He snapped instantly to his feet, already mentally preparing his defense when a British accented, woman’s voice washed through the room.

"Lo, Aunt Kris’."

The woman in the open doorway was dressed all in black, including a pair of dark sunglasses. As she stuck her face through the crack Kristin allowed, she tipped the glasses down to run an appraising gaze over Nathan. A slow, appreciative grin curved full lips.

"Another one," Nathan mumbled as he noted the latest bearer of a facial resemblance to his lover.

"Theresa," Kristin exhaled forbiddingly.

Terry grinned a little broader. "Sorry to interrupt," she apologized without even a trace of sincerity. "I just thought I ought to warn you that Gran’s aboard." She eyed the shell-shocked expression on Nathan’s face. "But at a guess, I’d say I’m too late." She pushed the dark lenses back up on her nose. "Sorry ‘bout that. I had a devil of a time ditching that Commander Ford of yours, Captain."

"Sorry for the inconvenience," Nathan responded bemusedly.

"’S’ no problem," Terry allowed cheerfully, without seeming to notice the sarcasm inherent in his tone. Her chin swung around until she was face to face with her aunt.

Kristin arched one eyebrow in an expression of raw threat.

"Right," Terry exhaled. "Well, I should get going." She ducked her head so that her hair shielded her face momentarily from Nathan’s sight and mouthed, "He’s cute."

"Go," Kristin ordered with low force.

"I’ll call an ensign to escort you," Nathan sighed and started to reach for the com-panel.

"Nahhh, don’t bother. I’m like Gran, never get lost." She winked at Kristin and barely ducked back in time to avoid the swing of the hatch.

Kristin spun the latch with considerably more force than necessary.

Nathan dropped his head back into his hands. "And that was?" he prodded without looking up.

"My niece, Theresa..." Kristin sighed. "She must have come with mother. She only finished grad school a few months ago and has been working at the Anklam Institute to pay off her student loans."

"James’s daughter?"

"Mmm...Mum and Dad raised her after..." Kristin trailed off.

"Can I just ask one question?"

"Hm?"

"Why was she wearing sunglasses aboard a submarine?" Nathan asked his expression plainly confounded. "We don’t have a big glare problem down here."

"I’ve no idea. She started wearing them when she was eleven and just never stopped. Various of Mother’s colleagues have offered theories about it, but..." Kristin shrugged. "Personally, I think she does it to screw with people’s minds."

"Come here," Nathan whispered as he reached out to her.

Kristin moved to stand in front of him a little hesitantly, but he only tugged her closer until her knees were braced on the mattress, straddling his hips and she was sitting on his lap. He fitted his hands to the seal curve of her hips, steadying her as he leaned his forehead against her chest.

"Do you all look alike?"

"Just about. It’s rather like being caught in a cosmic Xerox machine some days. You have no idea how grateful I was when Cindy turned out to look like her father."

Nathan sighed heavily. "I’m going to wish I’d just run away and joined the circus before this is over, aren’t I?"

Kristin folded her arms around his shoulders, playing idly with the overlong hair at the nape of his neck. "Probably," she admitted.

"I suppose it’s too late to ask you to run away to my island with me?"

"They’d just follow us," Kristin sighed. "They always do."

"Wonderful," Bridger breathed, his voice muffled against her skin.

"Nathan...what are you...um...doing?"

"Nothing."

"That doesn’t feel like nothing."

"What about this?"

"No, definitely not...nothing."

"And this?"

"That was definitely a something."

"Good...If I’m going to wind up barking for my dinner on the bridge, I’ll be damned if it will for nothing."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By the time his shift was over, Jonathan Ford was ready to scream. After everything that had happened, he’d been eternally grateful to hand the bridge over to Katherine Hitchcock’s capable hands. Now he could get some rest, forget that Kristin Westphalen had a family, that most of them were running loose on the boat, and that Celine Bovare even existed. Bovare could scream, Westphalen-the-elder could disappear, Westphalen-the-younger could disappear. They could all scream, disappear or do whatever they damn well pleased. He didn’t care. "Not my problem anymore," he grumbled to himself as he stumbled back to his cabin. Exhausted as he was, he didn’t notice that the bolt on his hatch was no longer thrown until he flicked on the lights...

And spotted the black clad figure sleeping peacefully on his bunk, legs crossed at the ankles, fingers interlaced over her stomach. "And look who’s sleeping in my bed," Jonathan muttered disgustedly. The entire ship was busy looking the young lady and she was peacefully crashed on his bunk.

Jonathan seriously considered strangling her, but decided that the U.E.O. might not be terribly understanding. Of course he could just dump her body out a hatch afterward but...

No, that wouldn’t be right. Besides, somebody might see him.

Which meant he had to get her to her assigned cabin. He briefly considered calling security, then decided against the idea. The ship was already abuzz with enough rumors concerning the captain and chief scientist without adding a whole new chapter to the Westphalen saga. If anyone found one of them had been sleeping in his cabin, the gossip mill would soon leave out the fact that she’d been alone at the time. Which meant he had to get her to the guest quarters, preferably without being noticed.

"It can’t be that bad," a low voice commiserated cheerfully.

Ford blinked and realized that his guest had pushed up on one elbow and was peering up at him over the top edge of the sunglasses. The black silk blouse gaped at the top, allowing a considerable view of lightly tanned flesh. Jonathan swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on the crystal green eyes staring somewhat blearily up at him.

"Ms. Westphalen," Ford clipped very formally.

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Relax, Commander, I don’t bite," she flashed a broad grin, "unless asked nicely."

Ford stiffened, and an annoyed expression crossed his features. "Very cute, Ms. Westphalen," he snapped impatiently.

Terry pushed to her feet, and still muzzy from sleep, staggered slightly.

Ford reacted instantly, catching her arms to steady her. Terry leaned heavily against his chest.

Jonathan froze like a deer in a hunter’s sights as she looked up at him and smiled slowly, her expression radiating almost pure sexuality. He swallowed hard.

"And here I thought I’d gotten lost. Looks like my nose for direction didn’t fail me after all," she drawled huskily.

Breathing slightly harder than normal, Jonathan pried her away from his body. "I’ll escort you to your quarters now, Ma’am," he clipped impersonally.

Terry sighed heavily. "Ohhh, your quarters, then my quarters, then back to your quarters, I suppose," she suggested. "Whoops, I’m sharing a room with Celine. Why don’t we just stay here instead?"

Jonathan pushed her toward the hatch. "Just your quarters, Ma’am," he ordered, struggling to keep the flat tone to his voice. "Then I’ll come back to mine...alone," he added before she could get out another double entendre.

Terry sighed dramatically, but didn’t resist as he pushed her into the corridor. She folded her arms across her chest as he clamped a hand down on her shoulder and pushed her ahead of him. "You are absolutely no fun," she complained.

"That’s right," he agreed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nathan groaned softly as the sound of the alarm clock burned through his skull and rolled over on his bunk, automatically reaching for the figure who had slept close all night. He grumbled softly when he found the bed empty, a small yellow sticky note stuck to her pillow the only sign that she had spent the night. He grabbed it, frowning at the graceful but near-illegible handwriting.

Nathan,

It seemed best if I get back to my cabin before anyone else woke. You were sleeping soundly, so I didn’t wake you.

See you at B-fast.

Love,
Kristin

Love Kristin. He sighed heavily, trying to decide whether or not to read something into the simple wording. It could be nothing more than a fast sign off or maybe it meant something more. And if it did mean something more, did he really want it too? Conversely, if it was nothing more than an automatic closing to the note, would he be disappointed or possibly relieved?

Nathan grumbled something impolite under his breath and tossed it onto the bedside table, wondering as he did so if she had agonized as much over writing those words as he had while reading them. He was too out of practice when it came to the vagaries of beginning a relationship. Although, they weren’t really beginning a relationship. After all, they’d been dancing around one another from day one. And after Kristin’s confession of the night before....

"Stop it!" Nathan snapped aloud, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. All these mind games wouldn’t do anything except earn him a first class ticket to a rubber room. Finally, he slid out of bed, glancing at his watch as moved. Just enough time to catch a fast shower before meeting Kristin for breakfast. Another day, another dollar. And with his luck, probably another one of his chief scientist’s loony relatives. He sighed heavily. "I definitely should have run away and joined the circus..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nathan threaded between younger crewmen and women, his breakfast tray neatly balanced on one hand as he valiantly struggled to ignore the openly speculative gazes cast his way. He scanned the tables, hunting for Kristin’s distinctive auburn hair until he finally spotted her nearly hidden in a far corner.

There were even more inquisitive stares thrown his way as he slid into the chair across from her. Aware of steady perusal, Nathan intentionally flashed a hard look over his shoulder.

Every single crewperson in the room suddenly found something fascinating to study on the floor or ceiling.

Kristin noted the response with a raised brow. "I’m not certain this is such a good idea," she murmured thoughtfully.

Nathan began buttering his toast in order to have something to do with his hands. "If we avoid each other, it'll just make it worse."

"Oh, dear," his lover suddenly exhaled and Nathan turned around, following the line of her gaze.

"It’s Bill," Bridger muttered when he saw the man headed their way.

"And he does not look happy," Westphalen added unhelpfully.

No, Bill Noyce did not look happy. He looked furious, red faced and fit to be tied, but not happy.

"Do you know who is aboard this boat?" Noyce demanded as he came up on their table.

Nathan folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. He shrugged one shoulder. "The way things have been going the last two days, it could be Yakko, Wakko, and Dot for all I know."

"Her mother..." he snapped, and punched the air in Kristin’s direction with one meaty finger. "And that…that...hack psychic Celine Bovare!" Noyce exploded.

Nathan glanced past his superior, noting that progressively more crewmembers seemed to be loitering rather than heading on their ways once breakfast was finished. He peered back up at his friend. "I take your complaint is with the quality of her psychic...er...skills?" he asked, perfectly straight-faced.

"Very funny," Noyce hissed. "We’ll just see how hard you’re laughing when this is over. That woman is dangerous."

"Oh, don’t be melodramatic." Jessica Westphalen cut in impatiently as she abruptly stepped out of the crowd behind Noyce. Though more casually attired than the night before, she was still perfectly color coordinated in very high fashion sportswear.

Bill Noyce seemed to jump about four feet. He seemed about to say several more things only to cut himself short as Jessica stared at him with a challenging look. Noyce glared at Bridger as though the whole situation were somehow his fault. "I’ll be showing the admiral more of the boat if you need me," he clipped and all but fled.

The senior Westphalen grinned as she slipped into one of the two remaining chairs at the table. "That man really needs to learn how to relax," she commented.

Nathan watched his friend flee with a touch of envy. "Don’t we all," he sighed.

"Good morning, Mother," Kristin murmured, her tone a cross between irked and amused.

"Oh, do get that look off your face," her mother chided. She looked over at the captain. "My daughter does not approve of me some days."

"I gather you know the secretary general," Nathan interceded to forestall whatever Kristin’s response might have been.

"Oh, we’ve had a run in or two in the last few years," Jessica responded without getting too specific. "A small matter of an island in the Caribbean which he supported using as a bombing zone. It’s used by the natives of several neighboring islands for certain rituals."

"Ah," Bridger murmured with less comprehension than he would have liked.

"Voodoo," Kristin said by way of explanation.

"It is a perfectly serious religion...not all those bad Boris Karloff movies," Jessica Westphalen complained.

"I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that you put a curse on the man."

"Oh posh...I said a few Ooga Boogas. It hardly even worked..."

"Mother..."

"Less than half his hair fell out..."

Nathan suddenly choked on his coffee and couldn’t stop coughing. He bent over as he fought to catch his breath. When he could breathe again, he automatically he ran a hand through his hair, relieved to find it all seemed to be right where it belonged.

Both Westphalens noted the gesture and Kristin flashed a disapproving look at her mother who held up her hands defensively.

"It’s a joke," Jessica insisted. "Good Lord, you don’t really think I know a male pattern baldness chant, do you?"

A chant that would make a man tear his hair out strand by strand...yes...Nathan mused...one to make it fall out on its own? Unlikely.

"So, where’s Father?" Kristin asked, deciding that a change of subject offered the best hope for survival.

"He disappeared with some nice young man who knocked early this morning...."

Nathan frowned and started to ask for a description when Kristin suddenly stiffened and exhaled, "Oh, dear," again.

Theresa Westphalen sauntered over and dropped into the remaining chair, seemingly unaware of the male eyes that tracked her every movement.

Not that Nathan could blame them. She was poured into a pair of tight black jeans and her blouse appeared to be gaping even farther down her chest than it had the night before.

"Morning," the young woman muttered without preamble, then took a sizable bite from the apple she was carrying. She peered at the glaring adults over the rims of the ever-present sunglasses. "You’re a cheerful bunch," she noted mockingly.

Jessica sighed and shook her head, Kristin rolled her eyes, and Nathan mentally slapped himself to keep from staring. Kristin apparently noted the direction his gaze strayed before he caught himself because she kicked him under the table and flashed an angry glare.

Terry tipped the sunglasses down onto the bridge of her nose, noting the exchange with a hint of a smile. "I saw Noyce haring out of here," she commented dryly, then turned her bright green gaze on her grandmother. "You frighten him again, Gran?"

"I did no such thing."

"Right," the young woman exhaled doubtfully. She tipped her glasses down to study Nathan and ducked her head in her grandmother’s direction. "She reads minds, you know, so be careful what you think about." The easy tone of mock confidentiality had the feel of a long running family argument cum joke.

Nathan, wisely, opted to keep his mouth firmly shut.

"Theresa!" Jessica snapped. "I do not read minds," she assured Nathan.

"Just tea leaves," Kristin quipped and Terry snickered softly.

"Actually, I leave all that to the professionals," Jessica snapped back as she glared at her daughter. "I stick to channeling the odd evil spirit...or giving birth to it."

Nathan was amazed when Kristin suddenly developed an enormous fascination with her toast.

Terry’s continuing snorts of laughter were silenced abruptly when Jessica turned that look from her daughter to her granddaughter. Terry made a show of polishing the unbitten side of the apple on her sleeve before changing the subject. "So, have you made the world safe from total thermonuclear Armageddon or is the family reunion still on?" She grinned as she asked the question, purposely pushing the envelope to the limit.

"Theresa," her grandmother warned, but the girl ignored her, leaning close to Nathan as she explained.

"Y’see, when Gran found out that Granddad and Aunt Kris were going to be locked in this tin can together along with a sizable collection of nukes, she got a bit nervous. That sort of thing is likely to bring about the end of life as we know it...even if you and Aunt Kris weren’t—Ow!" she yelped as someone kicked her under the table. She stared suspiciously at the three adults, all of whom were scowling back with equally disapproving expressions. "Right...and denial ain’t just a river in Egypt," the young woman mumbled. Suddenly, she tipped her head up and stared across the room just as Jonathan Ford stepped through the crowd. "However..." She pushed to her feet, avidly watching the commander.

"You’ve seen men before," Kristin murmured acidly.

Her niece looked over with a wide-eyed, slightly desperate expression. "Unmarried, heterosexual, halfway decent looking...not lately" she gestured to her grandmother. "I’ve spent the last six months keeping the belfry from falling down about the bats...and two years before that slogging through graduate school. If there were men around, they were all in the same bleary-eyed, God-please-don’t-let-them-cancel-the-one-class-I-need-to-graduate condition that I was..." Abruptly, she grinned and pushed the glasses back up on her nose. "So, if you’ll excuse me." She tossed the remains of the apple onto the corner of her grandmother’s tray, then disappeared before any of them could say a word.

Bridger noted the look of terror that entered his first officer’s eyes as he got a look at the bundle of sexual energy headed his way. Nathan knew he really should go and rescue poor Ford, but...no.… Jonathan was on his own this time.

"You know," Jessica exhaled as she watched her granddaughter. "I sometimes think that child was raised by wolves."

Kristin shook her head in instant denial. "I think wolves generally have better table manners."

"And on that note," Jessica said abruptly and rose from her own chair. I should probably go see if Celine’s awake yet."

"If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get an ensign to show you the way," Nathan said firmly, his tone making it a command, rather than an offer.

"Oh, don’t bother. I’m fine on my own," Jessica said blithely, ignoring him as she slipped through the crowd before he could stop her.

"Wait...I...oh, hell," Nathan tried to call her back, then sighed and leaned forward in his chair when it became obvious she wasn’t listening.

Kristin watched her mother leave, then looked back at her lover, who was literally biting his knuckles. He noted her studying him and quirked an eyebrow.

"This isn’t going to get any better, is it?"

"Unlikely."

Nathan dropped his head into his hands and whimpered. "Kristin?" he mumbled her name without looking up. "Do you know that your family is...well..."

"The filial equivalent of Mr Toad’s Wild Ride?" Westphalen finished for him in a practical, no nonsense voice. "Absolutely. Why do you think it was so easy for Bill Noyce to get me on this submarine?"

"That would explain it, all right."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jonathan Ford settled into a chair at a an empty table, hoping against hope that the woman headed his way would take the hint and detour if he just glared hard enough.

She didn’t.

Theresa Westphalen dropped into the seat opposite his and flashed a winning smile. "Good morning, Commander."

He stared at her suspiciously for a long moment. "Good morning," he murmured at last. After her behavior the night before and the way she was dressed now, he was braced and ready for anything.

Except...

"I s’pose it’s too early in our relationship to propose," Terry said baldly.

A fork slipped from Ford’s grasp mid bite and clattered to his tray. "I...uh..." he stammered.

Terry leaned forward.

Jonathan resolved not to let his eyes drop any lower than the hollow at the base of her throat.

"So, how ‘bout I just proposition you instead?"

"Stop that," Ford hissed as he found his voice again. "Someone might hear you." He glanced around them at the milling crewmembers, only to find that they were all suddenly studying their food with rapt attention. Great...they’d been noticed. Nobody was ever that intent about breakfast unless they were trying to look like they weren’t looking at something that they were looking at— in this case him.

Terry shrugged. "Why should I care if someone knows if I’m sleeping with you?"

"You aren’t sleeping with me," Jonathan snapped as his head swung back around. He could almost hear the surrounding ears pricking up.

"We could remedy that situation easily enough," she offered cheerfully.

"No," Ford denied firmly, "we couldn’t."

"You’re going to be very difficult about this, aren’t you?"

"Look," Jonathan tried again. "I’m sure you’re a very nice woman and you’re very lovely, but it wouldn’t be appropriate..." Oh Lord how it wouldn’t be appropriate. He had a sudden vision of what Admiral Westphalen would do to him if he took advantage of what she was offering. Jonathan shuddered. It was not a pretty picture. "Do you understand?" he croaked a little pleadingly.

"Cancel the china registration at Harrods?" Terry asked perfectly straight-faced. "And give back the matching his and hers handcuffs?"

Jonathan groaned softly. She was hopeless. "Please, just leave me alone," he begged as he slid out of his seat, grabbed his tray and fled.

Terry stared after him. "I’m gonna get sued for sexual harassment one of these days," she murmured thoughtfully.

"So, how about we do a little mutual harassing instead," Ben Krieg commented as he slid into the seat next to her.

Terry glanced over. "Mister Krieg," she exhaled coolly.

"It’s Ben," Krieg assured her, a grin pulling the corners of his mouth upwards as he let his eyes trail down the front of her blouse.

"Mister Krieg," Terry repeated on an arch note.

Krieg made a pouty face. "That’s not very friendly...." He winked knowingly and flashed an oily smile. "I promise a night of passion you won’t soon forget." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Katie come in and tense as her eyes landed on the two of them. If anything, his grin broadened another notch.

"It wouldn’t work," Terry dismissed through an oddly affectionate smile.

"You never know unless you give it a chance," Krieg said with the gusto of a used car salesman selling a Pontiac once owned by a little old lady from Pasadena. He slipped an arm across the back of her chair.

Hitchcock’s eyes narrowed as she glared daggers at her ex-husband.

Terry leaned close enough that no one could eavesdrop. "The problem, Mister Krieg, is that I only seem to be attracted to nice men."

"I’m nice," Ben said instantly.

Terry shook her head, and her look became gently chiding. "I’d wager you have a collection of coal from your Christmas stockings that would fill a freight car."

"Only a small moving van," Ben argued.

Terry chuckled and for a moment, Krieg thought he was making ground, but then she shook her head again. "And then there’s the brunette over there," she nodded toward Hitchcock. "By the look of her, she’d enjoy a chance to disembowel me. You really shouldn’t go chasing one female when you’re already involved with another."

"Pay no attention to the ex-wife behind the curtain. There is absolutely nothing between us anymore."

"Your ex-wife?" the young woman repeated.

"A youthful error in judgement," Ben responded in an effort to brush the subject aside.

Terry tipped her glasses back up. "Those are lite-commander’s stripes," she said, using the slang term for Hitchcock’s rank. She glanced at his shoulder, noting the obvious inequity. "You have to take orders from your ex-wife," she chuckled before Krieg could comment.

"An evil trick of fate," Krieg grumbled.

Terry shook her head in wonderment. "And I thought my family was weird. You, Mister Krieg, have done the near-impossible. You’re even stranger than we are."

"Gee, thanks," Ben muttered.

"Anytime," Terry allowed cheerfully. "However, I really do have to get going now...people, places, and all that."

Ben would have risen and followed her, but she curved a hand to his forearm. "Please, don’t...let’s just remember this moment exactly as it is..." she said in charming mockery of a bad line from an overly melodramatic film.

Krieg grinned despite himself. "Here’s looking at you, kid," he did a bad Bogart impression.

Terry just shook her head and Ben heard her mumble, "Why do they always do Bogey?" as she moved away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Katherine Hitchcock was debating between issuing a direct snub to the woman coming toward her and offering a friendly warning. Well, not that friendly. It bothered Hitchcock just how possessive she was of her ex-husband. On the other hand, she usually just told herself that she was saving some poor woman from suffering the way she had. Of course, if she was also saving that woman from suffering Ben’s attentions in bed—well, that was okay too. The question in her mind, was just how close Ben was to making Kristin’s niece suffer, and just how much effort it would take to save her.

Before she could quite make up her mind a hand was suddenly stuffed into her line of view.

"Hullo...Theresa Westphalen," Terry introduced herself as caught Hitchcock’s hand in a firm shake.

Katie’s jaw dropped.

"Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to sleep with him." Terry explained quickly in a thoroughly no nonsense tone.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Katie responded too quickly, all thoughts of warnings and snubs abruptly exiting her brain pan in the face of the accusation that she might still be attracted to her ex-husband...which of course, she wasn’t...at all...attracted to him...in the least...

Terry smiled, and flashed a glanced at Katie’s name badge. "Right, of course not, Commander Hitchcock." she agreed mildly. "Do you glare at everyone that way, then?"

"No...I mean...I..." Hitchcock stumbled over her own tongue before catching herself. "You must be imagining things," she murmured in a brittle voice.

"Well, of course, that’s entirely possible. I’ve always had a very active imagination. However, did it suddenly get cold in here?"

"Not if you actually bother to button your blouse," Hitchcock commented acidly, and was quite proud of herself for having a comeback ready after her momentary mental lapse.

Westphalen’s eyes narrowed. "Very good, Commander. However, a gentle word of advice; you really should consider some sort of activity to lower your stress level. You might ask your ex-husband for some advice about that."

"I have no desire to...to..."

"Yes, right...to—to..." Terry glanced back at where Ben was avidly watching the two of them with a huge grin plastered across his face. Terry noted the response with an arch look, then swung her head around to cast an assessing gaze over Hitchcock. "Look, it’s really none of my business, but if you’re this busy being jealous and he’s this busy encouraging you to be this jealous, don’t you think maybe you should do something about it?"

Katie was still sputtering when Terry stepped around her and straight into Tim O’Neill.

O'Neill caught the woman’s shoulder’s, automatically steadying her. "Sorry, he said instantly, then realized it wasn’t a regular crewmember he’d collided with. Tim’s head tipped down. And he fell in love.

Terry never noticed. "Sorry ‘bout that," she clipped quickly and hurried on, completely unaware of the young man staring after her.

"Aye, yi-yi," Miguel Ortiz exhaled as he stared after his friend. "Now, that is a woman."

"Uh-huh," O'Neill agreed blandly, though he didn’t really register Ortiz’s comment. If anyone had looked closely, there was a good chance that his pupils were suddenly shaped in the outline of little tiny hearts.

"So which table you want?" Ortiz asked practically, the momentary diversion already forgotten.

"Uh-huh," O'Neill murmured.

Ortiz blinked, then looked over at his friend, toward the hatch through which the woman had disappeared and back to Tim. "Uh-oh," he exhaled. "She is waaayyyy outa your league."

"Uh-huh," O'Neill agreed dazedly.

"Breathe, Tim," Miguel instructed

"Uh-huh," Tim murmured dreamily.

Miguel sighed softly, smart enough to know that he wasn’t getting through. "That table looks good," he murmured, dragging his friend in the right direction.

Tim O'Neill barely noticed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sounds of computer combat echoed through Lucas Wolenczek’s cabin.

A sleek black virtual reality helmet covered Andrew Westphalen’s head and shaded his eyes from view while his hands were encased in jointed V.R. gloves. An amazed smile curved his mouth.

"That’s magnificent," the admiral murmured as his hands moved in mid space as though they were working the controls of a sea launch.

Lucas grinned. Getting the old man back to his cabin had been a fair challenge. Westphalen had grumbled the entire way, alternating between berating Lucas for wasting his time and himself for allowing Lucas to waste his time. However, he'd become enrapt the moment he got a look at the simulator program Lucas was designing.

A computer monitor showed the same undersea combat scenario that Westphalen was looking at, and Lucas glanced over, watching as a computer animated torpedo launched with a flood of bubbles, rocketing toward an enemy sub lurking off the simulated launch’s starboard side. A moment later, the torpedo found its mark and the enemy sub burst apart with a beautiful display of undersea pyrotechnics.

"Yesss," Westphalen hissed and Lucas grinned again.

Deeply involved in the game, the admiral never heard the soft knock on Lucas’ cabin door, nor did he notice when Lucas opened the hatch to find Kristin standing in the corridor, her expression a little worried. "Lucas, have you seen my...father?" she exhaled just as she recognized the figure under the VR helmet. "What the—"

"Shh," Lucas hissed and put a finger to his lips to silence her. He flashed a quick glance over one shoulder to check on the admiral’s condition, then hustled the doctor back into the corridor, valiantly ignoring the way she was staring at the spectacle of her father playing a computer game. Lucas pulled the hatch closed in his wake.

"What have you done to my father?" Kristin demanded in a low voice. "Or more correctly, what sort of pod creature have you replaced him with?"

"He does seem to be having fun with the simulation program," Lucas admitted.

Kristin shook her head bemusedly. "Fun and my father are not two terms generally found together in a sentence without a negative modifier."

Lucas shrugged. "I just figured the sim might appeal to him…and get him off your back."

 Kristin started to say something, then thought better of it. "That’s really sweet," she murmured, barely stifling the urge to reach out and tousle his hair affectionately. He was a teenager after all, and she was under few illusions as to how little the gesture would be appreciated. "And I’m quite astounded that it worked."

Lucas shrugged again. "I finally got the combat module up and working a couple of days ago."

"Now that sounds more like my father."

"By the way, I met your mom when I—"

"Psst," a sharp, sibilant hiss cut Lucas off.

"Doctor, did you—" the boy started to ask, but Westphalen shook her head.

"Don’t look at me." She whipped her head back and forth looking both directions up and down the corridor.

"Over here."

Kristin looked again and finally spotted Jonathan Ford’s dark eyes darting around the corner of a nearby intersection.

"Commander Ford—"

"Shh," he hissed again, cutting her off.

Kristin’s eyebrows arched and she traded a questioning look with Lucas before ambling over to where the commander was standing. Lucas followed close at her heels.

"What are you doing?" the doctor asked carefully as she noted the way Ford’s eyes were flicking up and down the corridor, a hint of panic showing in their depths.

"Hiding," he answered succinctly.

"Ah," Kristin said, ounding not nearly as surprised by his response as she normally would have been. Her family was aboard after all. Under those circumstances, his actions were almost normal. "Might I ask why?"

"Your niece," he muttered. "And keep your voice down...she’ll hear."

Kristin blinked, momentarily debating her options before asking, "What’s she done?" There was a this time implied on the end of the sentence and Kristin looked decidedly nervous as she waited for Ford’s answer.

"She proposed to me in the mag-lev," Ford grumbled in an outraged voice.

"Was she the brunette I saw leaving the galley when I went to get a snack for the admiral...all in black...sunglasses?" the teen asked Kristin. The doctor nodded and Lucas let out a low whistle. "Gee, life sure is tough for some people," he complained.

"It’s not funny," Jonathan snapped. "...she...she propositioned me on the sea deck," he added, sounding slightly more appalled than he would when informing the captain a torpedo was headed dead on for the seaQuest. He leaned closer to Westphalen. "and again in the launch bay," he added. "I think she’s following me."

"Yeah, that’s definitely rough," Lucas commented with absolutely no sympathy. He rolled his eyes. "How will you survive?"

"Lucas," Westphalen chastened, then looked back at Ford, uncertain quite what to suggest he do. The last time she’d had to deal with her niece’s romantic life, the seventeen year-old males in question hadn’t been trying to escape her attentions. Quite the reverse in fact. Keeping all of those teenage hormones in check had nearly required a whip and chair. "Jonathan, you’re an adult," she said at last. "If you aren’t interested, I suggest you just tell her so. I’m sure she’ll leave you alone." Actually, she wasn’t all that certain about that fact, but it was worth a try.

"I tried," Ford whimpered. "She asked if I minded if she kept her own last name after the wedding..." he shook his head in utter exasperation.

"What a truly hideous problem," Lucas muttered sarcastically under his breath. "Having a beautiful woman chase after you like that."

Kristin heaved a heavy sigh and flashed Lucas a withering look. "Look, Jonathan, they’re leaving tomorrow. Can’t you just ignore it until then?"

"The problem with that idea is...well...your niece is a very attractive woman...and...well..." Ford mumbled, eyes sliding away from the doctor’s. He shrugged broad shoulders helplessly.

"What?" Kristin prompted sharply, a touch of exasperation showing in her own expression.

"She kinda...well...I’m only human," Ford admitted in a rush.

Westphalen’s eyebrows climbed high on her forehead. "I think what you’re saying here is that she...er...carbonates your hormones?" the doctor murmured at last.

Jonathan debated his response, then finally nodded.

"In which case, what exactly is the problem?" Kristin demanded.

"She makes me feel like a sex object."

That one struck Kristin Westphalen completely dumb. She just stared at Ford. As liberal, left wing, and politically correct as she was, she had absolutely no response.

Lucas did. He dropped his head into his hands, his voice muffled as he grumbled. "Next thing, he’s gonna complain he’s just too damn well h—"

"Lucas," Kristin rapped, cutting him off.

"Healthy," Lucas inserted as he lifted his chin, silently challenging either of them to confront him on the grammatical problems with the sentence he’d just created.

Kristin stared at the ceiling. "What did I ever do to you?" she asked no one in particular.

Ford chose to ignore the doctor’s brief behavioral slip or maybe he just didn’t notice. "The thing is..." he began hopefully. "I was wondering if you could speak to her."

"Tell her you’re not that kind of boy?" Kristin clarified dryly.

Ford just nodded and flashed a weak smile.

Westphalen folded her arms across her chest, looking none too ecstatic over the proposition. "I’ll see what I can do," she sighed at last.

"Thanks," Ford said quickly, relief showing in his dark eyes. "In the meantime, I’ll be...er..." he paused as he tried to think of someplace to hide. "Examining the engine rooms for...er…overuse of grease in the ball joints." He muttered, then all but fled down the hallway, frequently ducking behind the narrow alcoves formed by the conduit supports that ran along either side of the corridor. Each time, he used the brief bit of cover to check ahead and behind himself for pursuers.

"I think he’s the one whose ball joints need checking," Lucas commented as he and Kristin both watched Ford’s progress.

"Wonder if I should have reminded him that the seaQuest’s engines don’t have any ball joints?" Kristin mused aloud.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Just out of curiosity," Lucas murmured, pausing to give her a chance to tell him to shut up.

"Hmm?"

"Does your family do this to everyone?"

Kristin looked over, dark eyes meeting Lucas’ s curious blue gaze. "Just about," she admitted, holding her palms up in helpless embarrassment.

As if on cue, there was a bellow from Lucas’ cabin.

The teen glanced at his watch. "That should be the combat sim ending. I’ll...uh...go see if I can’t keep him entertained a little longer."

"Thank you," Kristin sighed gratefully.

"Don’t say thanks just yet," the boy warned her. "You’re gonna owe me big for this one."

Westphalen nodded. "Of course," she agreed absently. Lucas slipped off and she continued to stare down the hallway long after Ford disappeared. "Why do I have a feeling I’m going to owe everyone on this boat before this is over with?" She blew her bangs out of her eyes, shook her head and hurried off.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ /////\\\\\\ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Manilow Crocker was having what could politely be termed a bad day. He had initially assigned a midshipman to look after each of their guests but the visitors had each managed to slip free of their leashes by midmorning.

Each visitor, except one...

Celine Bovare had stayed with her guide. It was the guide who had slipped the knot and fled. According to the latest bulletin, the young man in question was hiding in the engine room with Ford. Both were threatening to barricade themselves in should anyone try to remove them.

Which left Crocker with a problem.

A four foot, ten inch, cranberry-haired, loudmouthed problem.

He sighed heavily.

Celine Bovare never noticed as she continued with a tirade which seemed to be taking place in at least three separate languages. As far as he could tell, it had something to do with a "porp-waz" which Crocker finally decided was porpoise pronounced with a french accent —sort of. The president also seemed to be involved since she mentioned his name repetitively—at least Crocker thought that was what she mentioned. Occasionally, the security chief tried to get a question in, but was roundly ignored or shouted down. Finally, he just gave up and sat listening, trying valiantly to make heads or tails of what she was saying.

It was going to be a long day.

* * * * *

Part 3

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