Title: Strange Daze
Author: Whimsicle-1
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 4

Tim O'Neill didn’t believe in ghosts. Good Catholic boys are raised not to put much stock in that sort of thing. It is, however, very difficult to argue with solid evidence, particularly when it’s gliding only a few feet from the tip of your nose. That’s why his eyes were closed. If he couldn’t see the floating figure with its tendrilly white hair and dress, then maybe, just maybe, it didn’t exist. At least the awful sound seemed to have died away. He recited another Hail Mary on general principle, then opened his eyes. The room was quiet. Tim lay on his side several feet from where he last remembered while Crocker was only a yard or two away.

Manilow Crocker, meanwhile, did believe in ghosts, as well as leprechauns, kelpies, banshees, and other assorted sprites and spirits. He had no doubt what he’d seen. He just wasn’t quite certain how to classify it. Banshee probably in light of the din of noise that had heralded both its arrival and exit. The sound wasn’t exactly the wail that the poets wrote about, but it had sounded like something that would foretell a death. He just hoped it wasn’t his.

Theresa Westphalen had little opinion on ghosts, but did believe that salt water is hard on silk and leather. This wouldn’t normally be important, but became so because, unlike O'Neill and Crocker, she’d landed in the moonpool. Crocker was right about at least one thing. The shelf she’d been using as an impromptu ladder was slippery.

Terry kicked off the bottom and shot toward the surface, catching hold of the low wall around the pool to propel herself up on her hands as she came out of the water. "DEAD!!!" she bellowed furiously. "YOU ARE DEAD! CELINE!" Water and wet-dark hair streamed down her face, and plastered the thin silk blouse to her upper body.

Celine Bovare was still sitting in the middle of the room, no longer folded in a perfect pose of meditation, but staring across the room with a look of awestruck horror. "Zhe Spiritz," she intoned. "Zhey have zpoken."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh," Crocker chanted, nodding in time with the words.

"Zhe Federale funding for zhe Inztitute muzt not be cut."

"DEAD!" Terry howled and lunged as if to hurl herself out of the pool and at Celine Bovare’s throat. Unfortunately, she slipped, and abruptly found herself back underwater with a noisy screech. She was just coming up a second time when Nathan and Kristin skidded into the room. Terry threw an arm across the low retaining wall, dragging herself up as she coughed and spat water."I really hate my life some days."

"Chief," Nathan snapped at Crocker, who was just pushing to his feet. "What the hell happened?"

"I think it was a banshee, but it could have been nothing more than a simple spook," Crocker answered perfectly seriously.

Nathan started to say something, paused, started again, paused again. He traded a questioning gaze with Kristin, who only rolled her eyes and broke away to check on her niece. Nathan worked a hand through his hair, then looked over at O’Neil, hopefully. Tim was usually a pretty reliable, both-feet-on-the-ground sort of young man. "Mister O’Neill," he prompted, "care to offer an opinion?"

Tim looked up at his captain with wide, dazed eyes. "I...I...I...I think it was...I don’t know," he admitted hesitantly. "I...Crocker might...be...right."

Nathan sighed heavily, disappointment clearly etched on his features. He’d really been hoping for something basic—a terrorist bomb threat for instance. Something simple and straight forward to deal with, which wouldn’t leave him with the distinct desire to throttle his crew.

"It looked like a woman," O'Neill continued, oblivious to the expression on his captain’s face as he related the tale. "She was floating...and I could see through her. There was this screaming...booming...sort of sound."

"Banshee," Crocker pronounced knowingly.

"Zhe zpiritz are unhappy. Zhey know zhat—" Celine began to proclaim only to be cut off by Terry’s bitter snap.

"Spirits, my ass," the young woman swore as she pushed up on her hands to swing first one leg and then the other over the side of the pool. Kristin reached out to steady her when she coughed heavily and might have gone over backwards. "Thanks," Terry groaned.

Nathan hurried over as he demanded. "I gather you have an explanation."

Terry snorted disgustedly. "Oh, yeah...the ghost was a multi-phase hologram projector and a couple of feedbacking mini-speakers." Her face screwed up momentarily. "I think one of them has a short too—and I know the hologram array does." She shook one hand out, then sucked lightly on her fingertips. "Gave me a bit of a shock when I touched it—"

"No!" Celine growled. She had been silent through Terry’s explanation, but now she pushed to her feet. "Zhe zpiritz—"

"SHUT UP!!!" Nathan bellowed, his temper finally getting the better of him. He addressed Terry again. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

Tim struggled to his feet and moved over to join them, struggling valiantly, albeit unsuccessfully, not to stare at the curves revealed by Terry’s soaked and nearly transparent blouse

"Puh-lease," she cracked. "If I’d had done it, it would have worked right." She barely noticed as Kristin caught her hands, turning them palm up to check the faint electrical burns on her palms and fingertips. "Besides which, if I was going to pull off something this boneheaded," Terry pulled her hand free as she lifted one foot onto her thigh to peel off a sodden boot. "Do you really think I’d be dumb enough to be standing anywhere near the water in a five hundred dollar pair of custom-made boots?" She poured a stream of water from the boot, then tossed it aside and shifted her feet to peel off the other one. As she did so, she shook one arm in a fruitless effort to pry the silk away from her skin. "Not to mention a silk Versace blouse...and...oh, hell." she reached into her breast pocket to pull out the now completely destroyed notes. Ink ran down the water-logged napkin and across her fingers. "Damn, damn, damn," she chanted furiously. "You’re dead, Celine!" she swore again and would have gone after her employer if Nathan hadn’t dropped a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down into a sitting position.

"I swear, Cap, it was a banshee," Crocker inserted helpfully.

"Only the electronic kind," Terry corrected.

Crocker started to argue, but Nathan held up hand, silencing him. "For the moment, I’m inclined to go with her explanation," he informed the security chief with a nod toward Terry.

"Zhew are miztaken," Celine pronounced in sepulchral tones as she pointed at Nathan. "Ahnde zhe zpiritz well punizh zhew."

"Like there’s anything else they could do to me," Nathan snorted disgustedly. A soft snicker brought his head back around to see Kristin, struggling valiantly against the desperate need to giggle. "Do you have something to add, Doctor?" he asked dryly.

Shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter, Kristin bit on her lower lip and silently shook her head.

"You’re sure?" Nathan prodded, his own mouth threatening to quirk up in an unwanted smile as the utter ridiculousness of the situation struck him as well.

Kristin just nodded.

Terry rolled her eyes as she glanced back and forth between the two, only to straighten abruptly as she noticed something. "Why aren’t you wearing any shoes?" she asked, staring at Nathan’s prominently bare feet.

Nathan coughed, flushing a deep shade of red. "I..."

"Wait a minute," Terry said as she glanced over at her aunt and noted a matching lack of footwear. "You’re both...bare...foot.... Oh geez!" she exploded as she put it all together. "You did! In my launch! Geez! Yech!"

Nathan’s jaw worked soundlessly for a heartbeat before he was saved from the necessity of an answer by the arrival of the Emergency Response Team.

Led by Jonathan Ford and clad from head to toe in white, waterproof/fireproof/radiation-proof/and probably ghost-proof suits, the E.R.T. burst in through the several entrances to the deck, firehoses at the ready. They skidded to an ungraceful halt behind Ford as the commander hunted for the source of the emergency.

Aside from the painful bad taste of Celine's dress, there was nothing.

Jonathan peeled the soft plastic helmet portion of the suit off, letting it dangle down his back. "Captain?" he questioned.

Nathan dropped his head into his hands as it occurred to him that he probably should have called the bridge and recalled the E.R.T. He really could have done without their presence.

Celine, on the other hand knew an opportunity to play to larger audience when she saw one. "Zpiritz!" she called, throwing her arms wide in supplication. "Zpeak to me!"

"Oh, hell," Nathan groaned.

"What’s going on?" Ford questioned nervously.

"Family’s in town," Kristin murmured with bemused resignation.

"One of you must own a bed," Terry complained, still on the subject of Nathan and Kristin’s activities in the launch.

"Do you think we could have dinner together tonight?" Tim asked Terry in a complete break from reality.

Every eye in the room landed on the lieutenant, who abruptly turned roughly the same color as Celine’s hair. He shrugged helplessly as it occurred to him that maybe this wasn’t the best time for the question.

Terry thought about it momentarily, then shrugged. "Sure," she agreed as though being asked on a date during a possible visitation by a transdimensional haunt was an everyday event. It wasn’t, of course. The haunts had become a frequent event in her life since joining Anklam. It was the date part that was unusual. Anything else she might have said was cut short as Celine tilted her head back and roared, "ZPEAK TO ME!!"

Then all hell really broke loose.

An awful twanging sound echoed from every corner of the room and light exploded from a point at the very center.

"Whoa, boy," Nathan exhaled, suddenly regretting his sarcasm with Crocker and O'Neill as the image of a woman winked into existence several feet from the ground only a few yards away.

"Omigodomigodomigodomigod," Crocker chanted as he tried to duck behind his captain. Bridger shoved him back and the security chief wound up crouching behind the edge of the pool’s retaining wall for cover.

As the noise died away, the light coalesced and strung outward, forming long white tendrils of hair, dress, arms and other assorted limbs.

The brave heroic members of the Emergency Response Team promptly hit the deck. At least one begged for his Mommy.

"Where are the Ghostbusters when you need them," Kristin murmured dryly, sounding not the slightest impressed.

"ZHEW ZEE!!"

Nathan looked over at Terry questioningly. "What’d she say?"

Terry shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Who knows...so, where in the shuttle did you..." she trailed off suggestively in hopes she could avoid having to have the whole thing decontaminated and fumigated, and just bleach one area.

Kristin flicked her niece on the back of the head. "Would you please get your mind off my sex life?" she demanded as though there wasn’t a ghost-like apparition floating only a few feet away. Both Westphalen women definitely fell into the non-believer category.

"When you keep your sex life out of my launch," Terry shot back.

"Hail Mary, full of grace..." Tim whispered and crossed himself.

Nathan folded his arms across his chest and sat down on the edge of the pool, his expression amazingly prosaic as he watched the proceedings, with a rather wry expression. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t believe in what he was seeing as it was that there was nothing left that could shock him, not even the ghostly howl that suddenly erupted from the maw that appeared in the face of the spirit.

"The spiiiiirrrrriiiiittttttssssss ddddeeeeeemmmmmmmmaaaaaannnnnnddddd that yyyyyyooooooooooouuuuuuuuuu aaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiidddddddddddd MMMMiiiiissssssssssssstttttttttrrrrreeeeeeeeesssssssss CCCCCeeeeeellllllliiiiiinnnnnnnneeeeeeeee."

Nathan arched one eyebrow. "Of course they do," he remarked to no one in particular.

Darwin suddenly surfaced, resting his beak on the edge of the retaining wall next to Nathan’s hip to stare at the proceedings with a distinctly jaundiced eye. Bridger patted the dolphin’s head absently with one hand as he reached for the nearby vocoder with the other.

"Crazy," the unit translated Darwin’s disgusted whistle.

Nathan couldn’t argue with the comment so he only shrugged.

"Mating lust," the dolphin pronounced sagely.

Nathan looked down at his friend. "What would you know about it?"

"That why Darwin at Bridger’s island...cute female with crazy pod. Darwin hide."

Nathan just stared at his friend for a brief moment, uncertain what to make of that comment. "You mean you stayed because you were avoiding a woman?" he asked at last.

Darwin almost seemed to shrug. "And pod...Darwin hide," he confirmed.

Nathan looked back across the room where the ghost was still noisily proclaiming the need for federal aid to the psychically inclined, Celine was still threatening him with the wrath of the "zpiritz", Kristin and her niece were still arguing over the escapade in the launch, Jonathan, the Emergency Response Team, Crocker, and O'Neill were still crouched and whimpering in fear. "Tempting idea," he admitted. "But I suspect they’d find me."

"Bridger not hide from Kristin...mating lust," the dolphin muttered, a fine edge of disapproval coming out in his high pitched clacks.

Nathan couldn’t argue that point either. He shrugged again. "I suppose I really should do something about this," he decided out loud.

"Pull plug to black boxes," Darwin advised knowingly.

"Black boxes?" Nathan questioned.

"Crazy lady put out black boxes. Black boxes make picture, ugly sound. Pull plug to boxes. Pictures stop."

Nathan frowned at his friend. "Maybe we should make you captain," Bridger mused.

"U.E.O. too stupid," Darwin grumbled.

"Or maybe I should just run away."

"Bridger too stupid."

Kristin broke from her argument with her niece just long enough to glare at the dolphin. "I heard that," she warned him.

"Darwin go now," the vocoder’s annoyingly high-pitched voice chattered just as the dolphin backed away from the wall.

"Coward," Nathan grumbled.

"Darwin not stupid," the unit translated while Darwin disappeared beneath the water.

Nathan sighed heavily. Even his dolphin was laughing at him. He was about to try and do something about that when his PAL chirped for attention. "Bridger here," he snapped impatiently.

"Captain, this is Ortiz. I wanted to let you know we registered an unusual surge on the electrical system on seadeck. There’ve been several spikes starting about the same time as your call informing the bridge of a possible emergency."

"Thank you, Mister Ortiz," Nathan rapped as he closed the line back down, anger glittering in his eyes. It was bad enough that the Bovare woman was trying to run a con-job, but apparently she was also using the seaQuest’s own system to power it.

That was the straw. He was the camel. And his back was definitely broken.

"S'cuse me, pardon me—pardon me, s'cuse me," Bridger muttered as he stepped over and around his crew in search of the outlet where Celine had plugged in her system.

She obviously realized where he was headed because her voice suddenly gained in volume as she stormed over to put herself between him and a socket where several very suspicious runs of wire were plugged in. "Zhe Zpiritz aire here becauze of Zhour dizbelief. It iz Zhew who anger zhem."

"Anger them?" Nathan repeated dangerously. "Trust me, that isn’t one tenth of what they’re doing to me at the moment."

Celine would have blocked his way, but Nathan just stared at her, raw threat showing in his dark eyes. The psychic-to-the-stars noted his expression and suddenly seemed uncertain.

Nathan’s mouth turned up in an evil, almost feral grin. "Can you read my mind?" he asked with false courtesy.

"Er...." Celine swallowed hard.

"Because if you can, you’ll start running now," he informed her. The smile never broke.

Celine gleeped, but stood rooted to the spot.

Nathan arched an eyebrow and waited.

Celine stepped aside.

"That’s better," Nathan growled and moved past her, reaching for the octopus of tangled wires. It pulled free with a solid yank and he let out a soft sigh of relief as silence reigned for the first time in three days. He did a slow pivot.

The ghost had returned to the Bill Murray flick from whence she’d been summoned.

Nathan held up a hand before anyone could speak. "Everyone just be quiet."

And they were.

Nathan straightened his shoulders. This was better—much better. He was back in control of his ship—in control of his ship, his crew, his life, his very destiny.

They say hubris angers the Gods. Unfortunately for Nathan Bridger, he’d long since forgotten his college run-ins with Aeschylus and Euripides.

Somewhere, the Gods took notice of that fact—and didn’t approve.

Oh, they didn’t respond immediately. That would have been too conspicuous, and the Devious Gods of Fate are rarely that obvious. Instead, they sat and waited for an opportunity.

Nathan gestured to his first officer. "Mister Ford, you can dismiss the E.R.T." He glared pointedly at Celine, then at the tangle of wires dangling from his outstretched hand. "I think we have the situation back under control."

"Uh, right, sir," Jonathan agreed hesitantly as he struggled to his feet. He waved to the hangdog, white-suited men and women who began to file silently out. "I’ll...uh...be on the bridge, if you need me," Ford assured the captain, then hurried after them.

"We can only hope," Nathan murmured as his first officer disappeared from view. He turned his gaze back on Celine, who straightened her shoulders and seemed to marshal herself. Nathan smiled a chilling smile and waved the rat’s nest of wires. "Care to explain?"

"Obviouzly, zhere haz been a mizunztanding," she said with overstated courtesy, edging forward as if she might grab the mess from his hand.

Nathan saw the thought pass through her brain. He shook his head and waggled a finger in a tut-tutting motion.

The woman frowned slightly, but pulled back a notch. "Zhoze devizez ahre merely aidz for my powerz. Zhey allow me to focuz my Zhoughtz," she explained breathlessly.

"Ha," Terry snorted. "Those are—"

"Quiet!" Nathan snapped, cutting her off. "You were saying?" he prompted Celine.

"When zhew pulled zhe plug, zhew...ztartled me...ahnd I lozt contact withz zhe zpirit world..." she swallowed hard. None of this had been part of her original game plan, and she had never been especially clever when it came to thinking on her feet. Give ‘em a show had always been her mantra, but with the projection system disabled she was left with her own meager talents. Unfortunately, those would just have to do. She threw her arms wide. "Zpeak zhrough me, Chanandra....Zhow zheze nonbelieverz zhe powerz of zhe zpirit world!"

"Quit being such a mensch, Sarah," Terry’s voice rang across the seadeck.

Celine choked to a halt, apparently having swallowed her tongue.

Nathan started to tell Terry to be quiet, but didn’t as it suddenly occurred to him that the young woman’s accent had been all wrong. She’d sounded more like a New Yorker than a Brit.

Kristin, meanwhile was staring at her niece with narrow-eyed suspicion. "Oh, no, you don’t," she ordered.

Terry pushed to her feet, spinning back to flash a cocky smile at Kristin. "Stay out of it, darlin’," she advised.

The two women stared at each other for a long moment, then Kristin suddenly whispered, "Oh, no," in a voice rich with dread.

Terry chuckled, eyes sliding over Kristin in a way not usually associated with healthy family relations. "Nice."

"Kristin, what’s going on?" Nathan demanded, suddenly nervous. He knew the brief bout of sanity had been too much to hope for.

Celine continued to stare at her employee with something akin to horror.

Terry grinned broadly at Kristin and arched an eyebrow. "You want to tell him or shall I?"

Crocker pushed up from his hiding place, peered at the young woman, muttered, "Uh-oh," and hid again.

When Kristin didn’t immediately respond, Terry shrugged. "Guess, I’ll just have to handle it," she announced and strode over to Nathan, thrusting a hand forward. "Pleased to meet you, Captain Bridger, you’re well thought of by those in the afterlife."

Tim O'Neill ducked his head and began to pray.

Nathan accepted her firm handshake on autopilot. "Huh?"

"Benjamin J. Braslow," Terry continued in a no-nonsense, yet oddly charming way. "Attorney at law."

"Huh?" Nathan repeated.

Terry smiled gently. "I can understand your confusion, Captain," she commiserated. "Particularly after my former wife’s performance...however—"

"YOU’RE DEAD!!!!!" Celine suddenly bellowed, all pretenses of a European accent replaced by a flat, midwestern drawl as she pointed at Terry. "AND WE WERE NEVER DIVORCED!!!!"

Terry smiled pleasantly at Celine. "Now, now, Sarah," she tsked. "You really should check your marital contract. It read ‘til death do us part.’ I died. We parted."

By this time, Kristin had hurried over and was standing next to Nathan, worriedly chewing on her lower lip.

"Kristin?" Nathan hissed her name. "What’s going on?"

"I think she’s channeling.

"You don’t believe in any of that," Nathan reminded her.

"Well...no...but, then again, there is that lovely Edwardian gown in my closet and a substantial hole in my memory regarding how it got there...also this has...sort of..."

"What?" Nathan demanded.

"Happened before," Kristin admitted in a rush.

Nathan dropped his head into his hands and whimpered.

The score to date:

Devious Gods of fate: bazillions—and counting.

Nathan Bridger: zip.

"I must apologize for the means of my arrival," Benjamin J. Braslow, née Theresa Westphalen said with lawyer-like sincerity. "However, once you’re dead, it’s hell to find a process server who’ll take your case."

"Of course," Nathan murmured without looking up.

"You are dead!" Celine repeated, pointing at Terry with a thick finger.

"I know, honey," Braslow/Terry assured her. "I remember the chest pains intimately—not to mention the Visa bill that caused them." He/she folded his/her hands together at the small of his/her back. "However, I’m not here to rake over personal matters from my former life."

"Why are you here?" Kristin asked nervously.

"My God, people even come back from the dead to fight with her," Nathan moaned in the background.

Braslow/Terry chuckled, waving Nathan’s comment aside, then smiled at Kristin, though his/her eyes never rose above the level of the doctor’s chest. "A very good question, my dear. However, first things first. Is there any way we can sharpen up this picture? I don’t remember the world being this blurry."

"Glasses," Nathan advised with a loose gesture toward the dark frames that, miraculously enough, still hung from the young woman’s collar line.

Braslow/Terry slipped the sunglasses free to peer through the dark lenses. "So, you’re telling me this kid’s world is either blurry or dark? Why do I always wind up in the weird ones?" The ghostly lawyer shook his/her head and hooked the glasses in his/her collar again. "On the other hand," Braslow decided aloud, and tugged the soaked fabric away from Terry’s chest to peer underneath. "She does have her good points—OW!!!" he yelped as blows came in from both sides.

"Pervert!" Kristin accused as she delivered a sharp rap to the skull.

"Philanderer!!!" Celine added for good measure.

"Might I remind you two, that while I can feel the pain in the present tense, the bruises will be enjoyed by the young lady who normally resides at this address."

"Damn," Kristin hissed and yanked her hand back.

Celine felt no such restraint. "I can live with that." She aimed another solid blow at the body currently housing her former husband.

Braslow/Terry ducked, then straightened slim shoulders the way a man wearing a suit would. "There is no reason for physical violence, Sarah," he/she chided.

"Quit calling me that," Celine ordered. "I don’t know what your game is, but—"

"My game," the spiritually channeled lawyer cut Celine off. "Is really very simple. I’m here on behalf of my clients. I have been retained in a class action suit by those in the afterlife to file a Cease and Desist order against one Sarah Braslow, otherwise known as Celine Bovare, regarding her fraudulent claims of contacting those referred to in common parlance as ‘the dead’, as well as her continued harassment of said dead."

"You can’t be serious," Celine swore furiously. "This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever—"

"You are to discontinue all claims to successfully, channel, speak to, or communicate with any deceased individuals—either real or fictional," Braslow/Terry continued as if Celine hadn’t interrupted. "And also to terminate all efforts to contact by any means, said deceased individuals. Failure to comply with this order will result in ongoing litigation of a cosmic nature. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very funny, Terry. You’ve had you’re little bit of revenge," Celine conceded. "You can drop the act now."

"You fail to grasp the seriousness of this situation. The dead are tired of being maligned by your ludicrous predictions and announcements. Do you really think we want people believing that some ancient Assyrian warrior named Chanandra has nothing better to do than tell some idiot on Wall Street whether IBM’s going to do well this year? I don’t think so. Furthermore, the din created by your half-baked attempts at trans-spatial contact is becoming extraordinarily annoying!" Genuine stress carved itself in Braslow’s/Terry’s features. "In short, my dear, FORMER wife...we...the dead...would like a little PEACE AND QUIET!"

"I can relate to that," Nathan murmured with heartfelt sincerity.

"Uh-huh," Kristin agreed.

Tim just prayed a little harder.

"You don’t really expect me to believe this act?" Celine demanded.

Braslow/Terry shot an invisible cuff. "Thirty-two—twenty-six—sixty-one—ninety-five," he/she replied.

Celine froze and swallowed hard. "Wha’d you say?" she questioned with wide eyes.

"You heard me," Braslow assured her.

"Oh, boy," the psychic to the rich and famous squeaked and swallowed hard. "Only Benny ever knew the number to that safe."

Braslow/Terry smiled triumphantly. "I believe my work here is done. Captain, it's been a pleasure making your acquaintance."

"I’d say drop by anytime, but I think you can understand why I’d prefer it if you didn’t," Nathan replied with a hard edge of sarcasm.

Braslow/Terry nodded in understanding, then turned his/her gaze on Kristin. "I regret that we didn’t have a chance to get to know one another better, Doctor."

"That’s okay...really," Kristin reassured the counseling attorney to the dead, and stepped behind Nathan, an expression of nervous distaste plastered across her elegant features.

"Still a two-timer," Celine complained.

Braslow stiffened and glared at the not-so-psychic psychic. "As I said the marital contract was nullified upon my demise. In fact, I have to be going because I have a date," the last words were pronounced with extra emphasis.

"Is it just me," Nathan muttered an aside to Kristin, "or is the ghost trying to make the psychic jealous?"

Kristin shrugged. "Sorta looks that way," she admitted.

Celine caught hold of Braslow’s/Terry’s shirtfront, yanking until they were face to face. "Just remember one thing," she warned grimly. "One day I will be dead and when I happens, I promise you, you’ll wish you weren’t."

"Looks like, he...she...it...succeeded too," Kristin commented.

"And on that note," Braslow grinned and winked, and Terry suddenly went limp, knees buckling as she folded downward to the deck.

Later, Nathan would thoroughly convince himself it was nothing but a coincidence, a delayed side effect left over from the E.R.T. hooking up their hoses and emergency equipment, but the overhead, fire-damping system abruptly went off, pouring soapy foam down on their heads.

Nathan folded his arms across his chest, and just stood there, his expression surprisingly bland. "My mistake," he admitted out loud, "was in thinking that I was somehow in command of this boat."

"Really?" Kristin questioned dryly. "I thought it was my fault for that stray thought somewhere along the way that it couldn’t get any worse."

"That probably didn’t help," Nathan allowed, nodding his head as soapy white foam continued to pour down on them. He glanced up. At least the rate seemed to be slowing.

Terry suddenly lifted her head from the deck, staring at the mess around herself with blank-eyed disbelief. "Is there a reason I’m lying in the middle of the bubble bath from hell?" she asked at last.

"You are fired!!" Celine growled, stuffing a finger in Terry’s face before storming out.

Terry blinked and watched her go. "Did I miss something?" she asked in obvious confusion.

"You could say that," Kristin said dryly.

"You channeled Celine’s, er, Sarah’s dead lawyer husband, who wants to sue her for harassment on the part of the deceased," Nathan added for good measure.

"No, really," Terry prodded. "What happened?"

The foam had slowed to an uneven drip. Kristin ran a hand over her hair, scraping off as much of the white stuff as possible then flicked it aside. "What he said," she informed her niece with a nod toward Nathan.

Terry’s eyes flipped back and forth between the two of them, her expression doubtful. "Right," she exhaled slowly and began edging backwards and to her feet . "So, they let you play with nuclear weapons, huh?" she asked worriedly.

"Big ones," Nathan agreed with a fond smile as it suddenly occurred to him that he could just nuke the lot of them. No...unfortunately the U.E.O. would probably frown on that.

Terry thought about that for a moment. "Can I make a suggestion?" she asked at last.

"Hmm?" Nathan muttered.

"I think you should avoid our family in the future. I don’t think we’re good for you," she stammered hesitantly.

Nathan let out a soft, demented laugh and massaged his temple with a mildly trembling hand. "Probably true."

"I should be going," Terry murmured, hurriedly backing away as though he had abruptly turned into a solid block of plutonium. She grabbed the still praying Tim O'Neill by the shoulder as she passed by him hauling him to his feet. "Come on."

O'Neill stumbled after her muttering to himself as he went. "My priest is never gonna believe this one. He almost didn’t believe my last confession, but he is never gonna believe this one."

Crocker’s head appeared from behind the retaining wall. He gestured toward the two fleeing young people. "I should probably go with them..." he stumbled over the words and hurried after the two.

Nathan just nodded, blandly. When you’re standing barefoot, in the middle of several inches of fire retardant foam having just been visited by a litigation-minded ghost, there’s very little left to say.

When they were alone again, Kristin sighed heavily. "Well, hopefully, that’s the worst of it."

"Don’t say that," Nathan pleaded. "Because, if you do, someone, somewhere will feel the need to prove you wrong."

Darwin chose that moment to stick his head up through the foam dotting the surface of the moon pool. The dolphin’s silver grey head turned left, then right as he surveyed the surrounding mess. "Weird pod," he pronounced then disappeared again.

"Y’know," Nathan mused, "it’s getting damned embarrassing being laughed at by him."

Kristin slipped her hands around his waist, and leaned her cheek against his back. "Ignore the dolphin," she suggested as he hands spread against his chest, and she stood on tiptoe to nibble his ear. "Think about this, instead..." she whispered several suggestions in his ear.

Then Nathan Bridger made his final, grand error of the day. "Kristin," he whispered, "Why don’t we give it a rest tonight."

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

The sound of footsteps storming through the corridor outside her cabin caught Jessica Westphalen’s attention and she tied the belt on her robe a little tighter, then opened the hatch just wide enough to peer out.

"Hmmph," Celine Bovare growled as she stormed past without noticing the the open door. "He’ll wish he was still alive one day."

Even by Westphalen standards that comment was an odd one, and Jessica was still mulling it over when Terry, barefoot, soaking wet, and dotted with fading bits of foam, hurried past, muttering to herself.

"Fired me...the witch fired me...channel one little lawyer and lose your job." She never noticed her grandmother who started to call to her, then thought better of it.

"Did I just hear Theresa?" Andrew questioned as he exited the bathroom in a robe, toweling his hair dry.

Jessica glanced back at her husband and nodded. "Yes," she said a little cautiously. "It looked rather like she’d been taking a bubble bath in her clothes."

Westphalen’s brows climbed on his forehead. "I see," he exhaled as he moved to join his wife at the door, leaning past her to peer down the corridor.

"She turned into the cabin she’s sharing with Celine."

There were several shouts and an angry bellow from the direction Jessica had just indicated, then Terry came hurrying back, carrying a blanket and pillow under her arm and grumbling the whole way.

"No talent, two bit, couldn’t-find-Casper-in-a-video-shack, hack." She spun and shouted back at the cabin. "I WILL JUST SLEEP IN THE LAUNCH! BETTER COMPANY AND NO SNORING!!!"

Andrew watched her pass by with a bland expression. "That child always did take after your side of the family," he commented when she had disappeared around a nearby corner.

"Lord, how I wish I could deny that," Jessica sighed.

They were still standing there when Kristin’s voice rang through the corridor.

"I don’t want to talk about it!"

She was followed by a pleading Nathan Bridger. "Kristin, will you please slow down and discuss this?"

"No!"

Jessica and Andrew traded gazes as their daughter burst into view, her clothes, hair and feet in much the same condition they’re granddaughter’s had been in only moments before. "Do you get the feeling we’ve missed something?"Jessica murmured in a deliberately neutral voice.

Her husband nodded. "And by the look of it, that’s the good news."

Nathan barreled around the corner in pursuit of Kristin and abruptly skidded to a halt. He was the first to actually notice their audience. "Doctor...Admiral..." he choked. He took a deep breath, brain racing as he hunted for a way to explain. There wasn’t one. It was just that simple. He tried anyway. "I...she...that is...actually, I don’t really know what happened."

Jessica just nodded, and Andrew stared at him as though he were several bullets shy of a full clip.

Somewhere on down the corridor, a door slammed with considerable force.

Nathan’s shoulders slumped, and he flushed a deep shade of red. "That would be Kristin’s cabin."

"It did have her distinctive ring to it," Andrew agreed.

Nathan gestured in the direction of the slam. "I...really...should... go... talk.. to her," he stammered.

Jessica and Andrew both nodded wordlessly.

"I’ll go now."

Another pair of matched nods.

Nathan backed away. "Just go...now..." he muttered, then finally turned and hurried on down the corridor.

Kristin’s parents both leaned out of the cabin door to stare after him until he disappeared.

When they straightened again, Andrew cleared his throat. "I know you believe in reincarnation and all that, love?"

"Uh-huh," his wife agreed.

"If we should happen to get together again in our next lives..."

"Uh-huh?"

"Let’s just get a puppy instead."

"Uh-huh."

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

Several hours, one shower, a fresh uniform, and a pair of shoes later, Nathan Bridger straightened his shoulders, then stepped aboard the Anklam launch. An old Dire Straits tune was playing softly in the background, the jazzy/bluesy song low and sexy in the darkened interior of the tiny craft. He fully expected to find Terry working at the computer since she’d vacated the quarters she’d been assigned to share with Celine. Instead, the main body of the small craft was empty. Nathan briefly debated leaving, then decided she probably didn’t intend to be gone long if she’d left the stereo playing.

To pass the time, he hunted for his lost shoes. After considerable effort, he finally found them where they’d landed half under a storage locker. Kristin’s were only a few inches away and he picked those up as well, sighing softly as he tucked them under an arm. Hopefully, she‘d speak to him again before they both needed to trade these in on the orthopedic types.

He was still crouched like that when a narrow door at the back of the craft opened and Terry, wearing a dark silk bathrobe, stepped out, her hair damp, a towel flung over one shoulder.

Nathan cleared his throat as he straightened to his feet. "Terry," he spoke her name softly, his low voice echoing through the tight confines.

"Yeeks!" she yelped, yanking the door at her back closed as she spun to face him. "Captain Bridger," she panted, one hand fluttering over her chest. "You startled me."

"Sorry," Nathan apologized hastily. "I, uh, just needed to speak to you for a moment, and also, there was these," he held up the shoes with a sublime expression of raw embarrassment.

Terry grimaced. "Don’t remind me," she ordered with audible distaste.

"I didn’t realize the launch had a bathroom," he commented, wanting to change the subject and largely bereft of safe topics. The local plumbing was the only thing he could come up with that wasn't likely to lead to any revelations regarding anyone's private life.

She glanced behind herself, eyes touching momentarily on the now-closed door. "Yeah...one of those little camper-type jobs, but there’s a shower...uh...you said you needed to speak to me?" she prompted when she looked back.

"Yes," Nathan assured her as he reminded himself of his official reason for coming. "I just wanted to remind you that the vocoder is technically top secret, so I need you to forget you saw it."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Is that all? Don’t worry. I doubt anyone would believe me. Besides, everyone I know is already convinced I'm slightly mad. No use in giving them anymore evidence than necessary."

Nathan nodded quickly. "That’s good," he murmured, then clarified himself when he realized the comment hadn’t come out quite the way he intended. "I mean, it’s good you won’t say anything." His eyes dropped to the shoes in his hand, and he stared at them with the same intensity Celtic priests must have had when studying their runestones.

Terry folded her arms across her chest, her expression quizzical when he didn’t leave, just stood there with a vaguely flummoxed look on his face. "Is there something else?" she asked at last.

Nathan’s chin tipped up. "Probably not," he admitted, but still didn’t turn to go. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Can I ask you a question?"

There was a soft sigh. If he’d been paying attention, he’d have noticed she was trying to get rid of him. "I suppose."

"If Kristin were angry at you, what would you do to get back on her good side?"

"Probably not the same thing you should," Terry responded, her tone dry. One eyebrow climbed high on her forehead. "So what’d you do?"

Nathan shrugged. "I suggested we give it a rest...for tonight. Somehow, I think she decided I meant permanently.

"I see..." Terry murmured thoughtfully. "Go to her and apologize for being a bad- tempered, insensitive lout," she advised after a beat.

"But I don’t think I was a bad-tempered, insensitive lout."

"What does that have to do with anything?’ she asked quite practically.

"I’m not sure anymore," Nathan admitted. "Reality and I have become ships that pass in the night. I hear the foghorn and I know it’s out there, but we just can’t seem to make contact."

"Right," Terry exhaled doubtfully. "Look, I really don’t mean to cut you short, but I do have to get some rest. Long way to pilot the shuttle tomorrow and all that."

Nathan suddenly seemed to notice her state of semi-dress and paled slightly. "Sorry," he apologized hastily. "I didn’t mean to keep you up." He turned to go...

And froze as his eyes landed on a stack of papers. "What’s," he began as he noted the first few words, "this?"

"Damn," Terry hissed and moved to grab for them, but Nathan had already lifted the entire lot and begun reading the top page. She froze.

"You little wretch," the captain of the seaQuest murmured a moment later. He began leafing through the rest of the pages, scanning them as they flipped by.

"Captain, that’s really not meant for anyone, but me to see..." Terry began, then trailed off.

"I’ll bet," Nathan agreed. He tilted his chin up to stare at her with narrowed eyes. "Care to explain?" It was technically a question, but his tone made it a command.

Terry swallowed hard, then shrugged in an unsuccessful attempt to appear blasé. "Gran asked me to check you out some time ago."

"I’m not talking about that," Nathan dismissed instantly. "Most of this has already been in everything from People Magazine to the Washington Post...although, I have to give you credit, the financial report you put together is considerably more detailed that the one my accountant prepares every year. No...I’m talking about the report on your employer."

"Oh, that," Terry exhaled.

"Oh, that," Nathan mimicked sarcastically. "Explain," he demanded again.

Terry shrugged. "Former employer. Remember, she fired me."

"Explain." Nathan repeated, his tone becoming dangerous.

"Well, it’s like this—"

"You faked it," Nathan filled in before she could say any more.

"Did I?" the young woman questioned.

"It would certainly seem that way," Nathan snapped, "since everything Bejamin Braslow talked about looks to be in here—including the handy dandy safe number that convinced Celine." He waved the papers under her nose. "Care to offer another explanation?"

Terry chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. "Would you believe cosmic transference?"

"Nope," Nathan clipped.

"Voodoo...zombies...that sort of thing?"

"Not even close."

"Temporary insanity?"

"Closer," Nathan allowed. "But as far as I can tell, you’re a carrier, not a victim."

"Well, then obviously I must be guilty," Terry agreed cheerfully.

"You little wretch," Nathan growled.

"Actually, the generally accepted family appellation at times like these is weasel-child," Terry corrected with a hint of a grin.

Nathan turned an angry glare on her. "Pardon me?" he questioned, not quite certain he’d heard her right.

"I’m weasel-child, Ian is wretch, and Caroline is usually on another continent before anyone discovers what she’s done."

Nathan gaped at the young woman. "You’re insane," he muttered at last.

"You’ve only just discovered it?" Terry commented, sounding a bit disappointed in him.

Nathan’s eyes slid closed, but he continued to gesture helplessly with his hands as he hunted for something to say.

"Oh, come on," Terry prodded. "Obviously, I felt like playing a bit of a joke on Celine after her little stunt. Not that big a deal really."

"Not that..." Nathan started to repeat, only to fall silent. He suddenly started chuckling despite his best efforts to stay angry. "It was pretty damn funny," he admitted, then consciously turned more serious. "But, please, no repeats. I don’t think this ship can survive another scene like that and I know I can’t."

Terry held up her crossed fingers. "Scout’s honor."

Nathan shook his head. "Why do I doubt you were ever a scout."

Terry shrugged. "Not even a girl-guide," she admitted.

"Right," Nathan sighed. "And on that note, I’m going to flee while I can."

"Good choice," Terry affirmed his decision.

Nathan stepped out of the shuttle, the froze for a moment as something struck him. He stepped back inside. "Wait a minute," he said suddenly. He pointed at her. "He...you...Braslow joked about you being being blurry or dark. He didn’t know about your sunglasses."

Terry blinked and a slight frown ghosted across her features before her expression turned completely bland. "Your point being?" she questioned.

Nathan shook his head. "You wouldn’t admit to that," he stated with absolute certainty. "You were desperate that I not tell Kristin. You wouldn’t make a joke about it."

"Really?" Terry murmured, her tone neutral.

"Yes!" Nathan snapped, then pulled up short as it occurred to him what he was suggesting. He paused for a long moment, not wanting to give voice to the suspicion running through his brain. "You did fake it...didn’t you?" he asked hopefully.

Terry’s eyebrows rose. "Did I?"

Nathan chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. "You must have," he decided out loud.

"Then I must have," Terry agreed.

Nathan backed out of the shuttle, staring at her with something akin to fear. "She must have," he muttered to himself. "She’s just playing head games, Bridger. She likes that sort of thing." His feet hit the deck outside the tiny craft before he realized that he still hadn’t asked the other question he’d come for. He stuck his head back into the shuttle just in time to see Tim O’Neill, his hair soaking wet, poke his head out the bathroom door.

"Is he gone yet?" The lieutenant J.G. asked

Terry dropped her head into her hands.

"Not quite," Nathan responded for her.

Tim squeaked and yanked the door shut again.

Afraid Terry might feel the need to explain, Nathan held up a silencing hand. "I don’t want to know... I just don’t want to know...not at all..not even a little bit...." He took a deep breath. "I just want to find out what time you’re scheduled to leave in the morning?" He didn't say he was hoping the answer was, 'early,' but the subtext was there.

"About ten-thirty, I believe," Terry mumbled through her fingers.

"Thank you," Nathan said carefully, trying valiantly to ignore the fact that one of his junior officers was hiding in the bathroom belonging to his lover's niece. There were certain pieces of data he could have done without in his life. "I’ll just push the hatch shut...you might want to lock it. Actually...that might be a good idea...locking it, I mean."

Terry nodded without looking up. She kept her head down until after she heard the hatch slam shut, then reached out to knock on the bathroom door. "You can come out now, Tim."

His sole response was a muffled, "Uh-uh."

"Really, Tim, it’s okay. He’s gone."

"Uh-uh."

She opened the door to find O’Neill, his uniform damp and somewhat worse for the wear, but more less in the right order, leaning against the bathroom wall. "Breathe, Tim," she advised.

He turned bright eyes on her. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"I think it’s because you look like you might forget sometimes," Terry answered reasonably.

"Oh," the young man exhaled, then shifted subjects. "You do know what the captain thinks we were doing?" he moaned.

Terry thought about it for a moment, then shrugged, her mouth turning up in a suggestive grin. "He’s not far off...." she tipped her head suggestively to one side. "All things considered, it’s not that big a step"

"This has already gone farther than it should have...I-I have to go," O'Neill stammered and moved to step past her.

He didn’t make it.

Terry plastered up against him, her expression sultry as she slipped a hand around the back of his neck to tug his head down.

"I really have to go," O'Neill insisted only milliseconds before her mouth found his. Despite the best of intentions, he kissed her hungrily.

The kiss went on for long minutes until O'Neill abruptly tore himself away. "Really," he repeated breathlessly. "I-I have to go."

Terry didn’t move an inch, just smiled her most inviting smile. "Not on my account," she assured him.

"I...oh...we...we can’t." He stumbled over the words, his brain caught in hormonal overload.

Terry grinned. "I don’t see why not. I admit, this isn’t the most ideal location, but really, if they can manage it at their ages, I think you and I should be able to—"

"I’m Catholic," Tim exhaled in a rush.

Terry stared blankly up at him. "That’s nice," she said at last, then tugged his head down to meld her mouth with his again.

Tim tore his mouth away again, then caught her upper arms to peel her away from his body. "No...really, I’m Catholic," he repeated as though that explained the problem.

"I'm a severely lapsed Anglican...so what!" Terry exploded in frustration.

O'Neill swallowed. "I can’t...I don’t....I mean...I can’t....well, I can...but I won’t."

Terry just stared at him as though he’d lost him mind, then slowly it sank in. "Do you mean to tell me that I have managed to try and sleep with the only bloody good Catholic in the known universe?" she demanded. "Even your priests are having sex these days!"

Tim hung his head and nodded. "Sorry."

"Oh, hell," Terry sighed. She pulled away from him and dropped into one of the passenger seats, hooking one ankle over the other as she rested them on the chair in front of her. "The only comfort in all of this is knowing that I’m not the only..." she cut herself off.

"You mean you’re...?" Tim trailed off suggestively, shock showing in his expression..

"Yes," Terry snapped. "No thanks to you. Could have been fun getting rid of that particular impediment together."

Tim looked really uncomfortable. "Well, um...actually..."

Terry stared at him. "Don’t you dare," she warned, her voice dangerously low.

"There was this girl in high school...Senior Prom night..." he admitted.

"Wonderful," Terry sighed miserably.

"Lucas is probably still..." Tim began quickly, then trailed off sharply.

"Lucas?" Terry repeated. "Isn’t he that teen genius member of the science team? Kristin’s mentioned him in her letters."

"Um...yeah," Tim admitted.

"How old?"

"Sixteen."

Terry massaged her temple as though she’d acquired a sudden headache. "You’d better go," she sighed at last.

O'Neill paused momentarily. "Um..." he murmured. "I’m due for a week’s leave when we’re in port in San Diego next month. Maybe we could...I dunno...get together and do something. Spend the day at SeaWorld or something?"

Terry peered up at him for a long time. "SeaWorld?" she exhaled.

Tim nodded.

She shrugged. "What the heck. I haven’t seen Shamu in years."

Tim grinned and tugged the hatch open. He was halfway out when Terry’s voice reached him.

"Just remember," she warned him. "I reserve the right to try and seduce you."

Tim thought about that for a moment, then smiled. "I think I can live with that," he admitted, then hurried out, pushing the hatch shut again behind himself.

After he had gone, Terry folded her hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. "Everyone always told me all men were sex mad when I was growing up," she muttered to no one in particular. "Obviously, they lied...damn them."

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

Nathan straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, smoothed his uniform, ran a hand over his hair...then knocked.

He’d already rehearsed the speech in his head several times. It was a simple one. Throw himself on Kristin’s mercy, apologize for anything, everything, and all points in between, and pray she never noticed he wasn’t entirely certain what he was sorry for.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Still no answer.

This time he knocked and called, "Kristin....Kristin, can we please talk? It’s Nathan."

Still nothing.

Either she was still in the shower, which seemed unlikely, or she still wasn’t speaking to him.

Well, of course, it was also possible she wasn’t in her cabin.

He kept trying until it became obvious she wasn’t going to answer. Nathan leaned his forehead against the cool steel hatch. He really hated his life.

"I feel like I should say something," a droll voice commented behind him.

Nathan glanced over his shoulder to meet a pair of black-dark eyes. "Admiral," he exhaled, a hint of suspicion coloring his voice.

Westphalen eyed the hatch, then Nathan again, his narrow mouth turning upward with a hint of an empathetic smile. "I used to get that look when I was...er...courting her mother. As a fellow male, I sympathize. As her father, it cheers me no end." The admiral’s hint of a smile broadened into a full blown grin.

"Gee, thanks," Nathan muttered.

"No problem," Westphalen assured him with a soft chuckle. "One more thing, Captain."

"What?" Nathan demanded.

Andrew shook his head and clicked his tongue over Bridger’s impatience. "As you are my daughter’s commanding officer, I hold you personally responsible for her safety. If anything happens to her, I will shoot you." The comment was made in a surprisingly matter-of-fact voice, but there was little doubt in Nathan’s mind of the sincerity behind the statement.

"Right," Nathan exhaled, leaving out the fact that given the way things were going, a bullet might almost be a kindness. He couldn’t leave things like that though. "Sir," he said very softly, genuine emotion showing in his eyes. "If anything happens to Kristin under my watch, you won’t have to."

Andrew searched the younger man’s face for a long moment, then nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw. "You’ll do," he murmured at last.

It wasn’t exactly a wholehearted endorsement, but Nathan suspected it was the absolute best he could ever hope to get from the other man. "Thank you."

Westphalen snorted. "Don’t thank me...please. And while you’re at it, get the hell away from Kristin’s cabin door. At least allow me to pretend you aren’t...doing whatever it is you're doing..." the older man shook his head, an expression of distaste momentarily skewing his features.

"Right," Nathan sighed again, giving way to the battle of wills. It didn’t cost him anything to allow Kristin’s father the minor victory. After all, whether or not she was in her cabin, she definitely wasn’t answering. He turned to leave, only to change his mind and pivot back. "Before you leave this boat, Admiral" he began uncertainly. "Tell her you love her. She needs to hear it." Nathan didn’t wait for Andrew to respond, just hurried away.

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

Kristin threw the ball for Darwin and watched the dolphin swim after it. He bumped it back with his beak and she caught it easily.

"Kristin mad?" Darwin questioned as he swam over and poked his head up through the water next to her hip.

"No," she denied instantly.

The dolphin stared up at her for a long moment. "Kristin mad at Bridger," he decided out loud.

Kristin rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. "Darwin play," she growled and threw the ball.

"No," the dolphin refused.

"Darwin," she ordered, pointing toward the colored ball floating at the opposite end of the moon pool. "Get the ball."

"No," Darwin refused again. "Why Kristin mad at Bridger?"

"None of your business. Now, get the ball."

"Mating lust," Darwin pronounced. "Kristin should mate with Bridger, not play ball with Darwin."

"Wonderful," Kristin sighed. "It’s Doctor Ruth with a dorsal fin."

"If Darwin had cute female dolphin, Darwin would not play ball with Kristin...Darwin would—"

"I got the message," Kristin cut the dolphin off mid-click.

"Kristin love Bridger?"

Kristin exhaled sharply. That was the twenty-thousand dollar question making her crazy.

"Well, aren’t you going to answer him?"

Kristin swung her head around. "Father," she gave reticent greeting to the man standing in the open hatch.

Andrew strode forward, watching the silver-headed dolphin with his piercing dark eyes. "So this is your talking dolphin?" he murmured as he stared at Darwin with a doubtful expression.

"I suppose you disapprove of that as well," Kristin sighed.

"As a matter of fact, I don’t. I’ve never disapproved of communicating with anyone. Besides, he has to be a more interesting conversationalist than Bill Noyce."

Kristin chuckled despite herself.

Andrew patted Darwin’s sleek head lightly while the dolphin looked back and forth between the two.

"Kristin-pod," Darwin spoke at last.

Andrew flashed a questioning glance at his daughter.

"He means you’re part of my family," Kristin explained. "Pods are dolphin family units."

"Ah." Andrew fell silent and there was a long moment of uncomfortable silence between the two while Darwin continued to glance back and forth, his expression as close to disgusted as the dolphin was capable of.

"Talk," Darwin ordered at last.

Andrew stared at the dolphin, then at his daughter, his expression vaguely nonplused. "What should I say?"

"Not to Darwin, to each other," the dolphin snorted, then slid back under the water, though not before the vocoder translated something that sounded suspiciously like, "Sheesh... Humans."

Andrew turned a somewhat disbelieving look on Kristin who just shrugged.

"He gets like that sometimes. I think he considers the rest of us a bit slow."

Andrew hitched one hip over the edge of the retaining wall, unable to meet his daughter’s gaze as he muttered, "He may have a point."

Kristin bristled. "Would it save time and effort if I just wore a dunce cap?" she snapped angrily.

Andrew turned a genuinely surprised gaze on her. "You?" he repeated, astounded at the very suggestion. "I wasn’t talking about you."

"Then, who were you talking about?" Kristin demanded, not quite believing his denial.

"You mean aside from Bill Noyce?" Andrew couldn’t resist the chance to quip.

"Yes," Kristin confirmed, a faint grin curving her mouth despite her best efforts. "Aside from Bill Noyce."

"How about me?" her father sighed.

Kristin stared at him in open mouthed shock. "Pardon," she stammered. "I don’t think I heard you right." The comment was half genuine disbelief and half sarcasm. If her father had one reliable character trait, it was that he never admitted error.

"You heard right," Andrew grumbled.

Kristin couldn’t think of a thing to say, so she just watched her father with wide eyes.

"I behaved like an idiot the other morning...and my apology that night wasn’t much better." He shook his head. "I’m still not thrilled with this." he indicated the surrounding ship. "But as your mother has reminded me, you are an adult...." he trailed off, staring into the distance for a long moment before continuing. "And we all have paths to follow in this life. Besides, if you’re going to insist on being aboard some blasted submarine, I suppose this is the one to sign onto."

Kristin’s jaw worked for a moment before she managed to get a response out. "Why now?" she asked.

Andrew shrugged. "I spoke to your captain for a moment—"

"What did you say?" Kristin demanded instantly, her mind already conjuring all sorts of mortifying scenarios..

Andrew paused, then seemed slightly embarrassed as Kristin subjected him to a withering stare. "Threatened to shoot him if anything happened to you," he admitted.

Kristin hid her face in her hands. "You didn’t," she moaned.

"He took it rather well actually," her father mused as though it was perfectly normal to threaten to shoot his daughter’s superior and lover. "He seems like a good man," Andrew admitted with all the grace of a man having teeth pulled without the benefit of novocain.

"He is," Kristin agreed without looking up. "And by now, he undoubtedly thinks I come from the single most insane family of all time."

"I hate to break this to you, luv, but you do," Andrew commented with a touch of deadpan humor.

"Don’t remind me," Kristin grumbled, bringing a chuckle to her father’s lips. She flashed him a dirty look. "You can afford to laugh. You’re only related to half of them. I’ve got the whole mad lot running about in my veins."

"Look at this way," her father pointed out with sage wisdom. "If he’s still interested after meeting us, it must be love."

"If he’s still interested after meeting you, it must be dementia," Kristin corrected tartly.

Andrew peered up at her for a long moment, temptation to give way to the obvious insult glittering in his narrowed eyes. Finally, his expression broke and he grinned. "I’ll give you that one," he allowed. He straightened away from the wall, and Kristin flinched, noting the newfound stiffness in his movements with a touch of trepidation. It suddenly struck her that her father wasn’t a young man anymore. The realization was jolting.

He noted her gaze and flushed. "Oh, stop that. I spent the afternoon with your mother is all," he grumbled as though he’d read her mind.

Kristin frowned in confusion, then suddenly realized what he was saying. "Oh." She dropped her chin, every bit as embarrassed by the thought as she had been at twelve. The sudden brush of her father’s hand under her chin startled her and snapped her head up to find him smiling down at her, his eyes a little sad.

"I do love you, you know. And no father could be prouder..." His voice was low and husky as he said the words, as though opening that part of himself up was almost impossibly difficult.

"Thank you," Kristin whispered, her own voice suddenly thicker than normal.

Andrew nodded slowly, then abruptly straightened his shoulders and folded his hands together at the small of his back. "I should get back to your mother. I told her I’d only be gone a short time, and I suspect she’s getting ready to send out the marines." He rolled his eyes. " She worries far too much." He turned and started to go, only to turn back. "Which reminds me—I was actually looking for you to ask what happened earlier."

Kristin shrugged, rolling her eyes skyward as she ticked off the series of events. "Celine set up a hologram projector which shorted out and brought Nathan and I and the entire Emergency Response Team running, then Theresa channeled Celine’s dead lawyer husband who threatened a lawsuit from the great beyond, at which point the foam fire prevention system went off." She paused just long enough to draw a breath before asking, "Is that clear enough?"

Andrew thought about it. "Probably about as clear as I can handle at this age," he allowed hesitantly.

Kristin shrugged again and Andrew hurried on, muttering under his breath, "That child definitely takes after Jess’ side of the family," though Kristin couldn’t decide whether Terry was the child in question or she was.

She was still sitting there a moment later when Darwin’s rubber ball banged into the back of her head. She spun in place, eyeing the multi-colored ball where it now floated on the moon pool.

Darwin poked his head out of the pool, turning his perpetual dolphin grin on her.

"Now," Kristin muttered acidly, "you fetch."

"Kristin go to Bridger?" Darwin questioned.

"None of your business," she clipped, a sudden vision of the dolphin making an announcement to the rest of the crew floating through her brain.

"Kristin love Bridger," Darwin continued, but this time he made it a statement instead of a question.

"I repeat, none of your business."

"Kristin mate with Bridger."

"Pervert!" Kristin accused and clicked the vocoder off, grateful the dolphin tube didn’t go through hers or Nathan’s cabins. She had a sudden mental image of Darwin’s beak pressed to the glass. It would beat the hell out of the uneasy feeling she’d always gotten from her second husband’s cat every time they’d started to make love and the animal had sat on a nearby shelf, watching accusingly. At least the cat hadn’t had the capacity to give pointers. She suspected Darwin would take great pleasure in critiquing their performance.

She tossed the ball back in the pool for him, ignoring the annoyed clacks and whistles as she hurried out.

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

"Read it and weep." Bill Noyce took a long drag on the cigar clenched between his teeth as he laid his cards down with a flourish and a grin. "Straight flush." He reached for the pot of assorted coins and bills lying in the middle of the wardroom table only to pull up short as a blunt fingered hand landed on his.

"Not so fast," Celine Bovare, née Sarah Braslow, ordered, a long narrow cheroot still clenched between her teeth. All traces of a European accent had disappeared along with the ghost of her former husband. She fanned her own cards as she laid them down. "Four of a kind, kings high."

Ortiz, Crocker, and O'Neill all groaned softly as they tossed their hands onto the table.

"Damn," Noyce hissed furiously.

Celine scraped the latest winnings to her side of the table where they joined a steadily growing pile. "And people say I’m not psychic," she laughed. The lights overhead flickered.

Crocker, and Tim both looked about ready to dive under the table. "Jeez, it was just a joke," Celine swore to the ceiling. "At least when you were alive, you could take a joke."

"A spook lawyer," Crocker muttered, shuddering at the mere idea.

"Hail Mary, Full of Grace..." Tim whispered just in case. He was pretty certain from what he’d overheard that Terry had faked the whole thing. On the other hand, one can never be too careful.

Noyce eyed the threeway response with a hint of disbelief. "I don’t want to know," he muttered to himself. He gathered up the cards and began shuffling.

"You got that right," Miguel agreed as he took a swallow of beer. Tim had related most of the story to him and he was still debating whether or not to recommend psychiatric counseling. He took a long a drag from the thick, Cuban cigar Noyce had given him, turned slightly green and had to struggle not to cough.

The sudden opening of the hatch brought all five of them around just as Nathan Bridger pulled to a halt, eyeing the proceedings with a disapproving look. Dark blue eyes landed on Noyce, who was just tipsy enough to face the expression with a jaunty grin. As Nathan glared, he cheerfully blew a smoke ring. Nathan waved a hand in front of his face in a vain attempt to clear the haze away. "What do you think you’re doing?" he demanded. His eyes swept around the table, taking in the other players. "Aside from corrupting my crew?"

Noyce held up the cards. "Poker," he said by way of explanation.

Nathan nodded, eyes sliding around the table. He paused momentarily as his gaze landed on Tim O’Neill, who flushed and sank down in his seat. Nathan’s expression turned questioning and O'Neill shrugged.

"I...uh...was just there to fix the...shower..." he stammered.

Nathan’s brows shot up. Amazingly enough, he actually believed the younger man. "You’re a better man than I, Gunga Din." He certainly didn't have that kind of intestinal fortitude, as he'd proven repeatedly over the previous couple of days.

"So you want to sit in for a hand?" Bill invited. "There’s enough beer and cigars to go around, and we could use someone to beat this shark." He pointed at Celine, who grinned.

"HA," the former psychic-to-the-stars snorted. She laid a hand across her ample breast, raised her eyes to the ceiling, and piously intoned. "The Lord looks after his faithful shepherds."

"Pardon?" Nathan questioned.

Celine shrugged and took another drag on the cheroot. "The psychic racket was going bunk anyway. I figure the God-biz is always a good bet."

Nathan considered several responses, and discarded them all. He turned a somewhat fatherly gaze on Ortiz and O’Neill. "You sure you want to hang out with these heretics?"

"Hey!" Noyce yelped. "We need them to fill out the table."

Nathan sighed heavily and shook his head. "Try not to steal too much money from my crew, will you?" He plucked a card from in front of O’Neill. "And you might want to change decks while you’re at it. These are marked."

Bill Noyce’s "Celine, you are dead!!!!" followed the captain of the seaQuest out the door.

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

Kristin knocked lightly on Nathan’s door, then again more firmly when there was no answer.

"Nathan," she called as she rapped her knuckles solidly against the heavy steel.

Still nothing.

"Damn," Kristin exhaled, wondering whether he was in the shower, avoiding her, or wandering the ship. Whatever the answer, he wasn’t opening the door. Undecided as to whether she was depressed or relieved, Kristin ambled in the direction of her own cabin.

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

Nathan rolled over on his side and punched his pillow, trying to get into a more comfortable position. He closed his eyes, concentrating on falling asleep....

With absolutely no success.

He opened his eyes, staring around the darkened interior of his cabin.

Who was he kidding? It wasn’t the pillow keeping him from sleeping. It was being alone. In just two nights, he’d become used to having a warm body pressed close. He rolled over onto his back, folding his hands together behind his head.

He was just going to have to accept it.

He was in love.

With Kristin Westphalen.

He sighed heavily, feeling a little overwhelmed and uncertain by the whole concept. As wonderful as it all was, it was also as scary as hell.

Of course, it was also possibly a very moot point, he reminded him as he wondered if she was speaking to him yet. Well, he wasn’t getting any sleep lying there worrying. Might as well bite the bullet.

He pushed out of bed and yanked on a robe.

Thankfully, the corridor was dim and silent. Wearing little more than a robe was not the ideal way to meet his crew.

The door to her cabin opened on the third knock. This gave him some hope because it meant she was as awake as he was. "I was wondering if we could talk?" he asked, getting the words out hurriedly in case she decided to slam the door in his face.

Kristin tightened the belt on her robe and stepped back a pace to allow him in. "You wanted something?" she questioned, her tone cool.

Nathan’s mouth turned up in a wry smile. "Some sleep would be nice."

Kristin turned away, her voice chilling another notch as she responded. "I was under the impression that was why you wanted to give it a rest tonight." She put special emphasis on the last words. That she had gone looking for him earlier didn't mean all was necessarily forgiven.

Nathan flinched. He’d been hoping she’d either forgotten or forgiven for that colossal bit of bad timing. Apparently not. He drew closer to her narrow back, reaching out to curve his hands to the fine slope of her shoulders, moving slowly and carefully in case she wasn't ready for any contact. She tensed, muscles quivering faintly as though she was still debating whether or not to let him continue. After waiting long enough to be certain she wasn't going to push him away, he began massaging taut muscles very gently as he spoke. "I was under some stress at the time," he pointed out. "Even I get short tempered now and then, and sometimes I’m unreasonable. I consider a shack adequate living space, and would happily wear nothing but cutoffs for the rest of my life—"

"Nathan what are you—," Kristin inserted.

"Hush," he quieted her. "You got to confess your sins yesterday. Now it’s my turn."

"All right," she allowed, and he was relieved to hear the tiniest hint of humor enter her voice.

"I am forever losing the cap to the toothpaste. I never have any idea how much money I have in the bank—your niece has better financial records on me than I do. I actually likesome country and western music." She seemed amenable, so he slid his hands down her arms to twine his fingers with hers. He nibbled lightly on her ear when she didn't protest, continuing to list his bad points between gentle nips. "I don’t even own a suit and tie...I prefer beer to champagne...my family is notoriously dull next to yours—"

"That’s a good thing," Kristin murmured dreamily.

Nathan didn’t argue. "And I can’t seem to sleep alone anymore."

Kristin turned in his arms, sliding her palms up his chest, feeling the muscles clench and unclench in the wake of her touch as she looked at him through thick lashes. "Am I to take this as—"

"An invitation to sleep with me," Nathan finished for her. "By all means, please do." Suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline driven rush of fear that she wouldn’t forgive him gave way to the realization that the problem was over, whatever it had been, he tried vainly to smother a yawn.

"It looks like sleep is exactly what you need," she commented dryly.

He only shrugged, then ducked to slip one hand behind her knees and the other along her upper back.

"Nathan!" she squealed in surprise as she suddenly felt herself lifted up against the solid warmth of his chest. "What do you think you’re doing?"

He grinned cheerfully. "Something slightly silly and hopefully extremely romantic. I’m carrying you off to my cabin."

"Has it occurred to you that this will be very embarrassing if we’re caught?"

"As embarrassing as the shuttle would have been?"

"No," Kristin admitted. "I’d say that was the apex of possibly embarrassing situations. This would, however, run a close second."

"I can live with that," Nathan allowed. "Besides," his voice took on a little-boy timbre. "I’ve missed you."

Kristin’s mouth turned up in a self-satisfied smile and she leaned into the protection of his body to press a light kiss over the ridge of his collar bone where it showed in the vee of his robe. "I hope you at least remembered to lift with your legs and not with your back," she sighed quite practically.

Nathan chuckled softly. "Trust me, the last thing I’m going to do at this point, is risk injuring my back." He finally had something really good to use it for again. It was now the second most valuable portion of his anatomy as far as he was concerned. As he reached the door he realized they had a problem. "Do yo think you could...uh...the door?"

Kristin twisted far enough to tug the hatch open, and he looped a toe around the edge to pull it the rest of the way, then did the maneuver again when they were on other side, trusting momentum to latch it.

He knew there was a certain amount of insanity in what they were doing. If anyone should spot them, there was no plausible explanation except the truth. On the other hand—his hands tightened on the warm figure in his arms—some things are worth the risk.

They had almost reached the safety of Nathan’s cabin when they rounded a corner and ran straight into Ben Krieg. Both men pulled up short, each eyeing the other’s burden with wide eyes.

Nathan had Kristin in his arms.

Ben Krieg, on the other hand, appeared to be carrying every—Nathan mentally hunted for the right word before settling on the relatively banal, 'marital aide'—known to man. Or at least known to some men. Nathan was mildly embarrassed to realize there were one or two things in the stack that he couldn’t even begin to guess at a use for. His brows shot up as he stared at the collection.

Ben made a desperate and wholly unsuccessful attempt to hide them behind his back. "Ah, sir," he delayed as he hunted for a believable explanation. Not even Ben Krieg’s legendary skills were up to a lie this big, so he just stammered helplessly and blushed bright crimson.

Kristin hid her laughter in Nathan’s robe.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Nathan prompted.

Ben eyed the woman in the captain’s arms, and it was Nathan’s turn to flush. "I’ll forget this ever happened if you will," Krieg offered at last.

"Forget what happened, Mister Krieg? We are both in our cabins, which means we could not possibly have seen each other in this corridor."

Ben grinned knowingly. "Right, sir." He wagged his eyebrows at the slender figure of the doctor. "Enjoy yourselves at whatever you aren’t doing," the lieutenant wished merrily as he bounced around them and on down the corridor.

"It would have to be him," Nathan muttered and hurried in the direction of his cabin.

Kristin lifted her face from where it was hidden against his chest. "Do you think he’ll actually keep his mouth shut?"

"If he wants to live, he will," Nathan growled. He pushed his cabin door open, then kicked it shut again when they were on the other side, sighing in relief.

When he still hadn’t set her feet on the floor a moment later, Kristin gently reminded him, "You can put me down now."

Nathan blinked, staring down at her with a bleary expression as he sank onto his bunk with her draped across his thighs.

She burrowed into his lap and leaned her head against his shoulder. "On the other hand, this is nice too," she decided, struggling valiantly against a yawn.

Nathan noted the reaction as he tamped down one of his own. Three days of constant stress coupled with two nights of steady activity were catching up with both of them. "Kristin," he mumbled against her shoulder. "Would you be terribly insulted if we just sleep?"

"Truthfully," she admitted near his ear, "I was about to suggest it." Sore and tired to the bone, she just wanted to sleep, preferably safely ensconced in a pair of strong arms.

"Good." He found the tie on her robe and tugged it loose, slipping the soft fabric away from her bare shoulders as he helped her slide under the covers. He dropped his own robe and climbed in next to her, clicking off the lights before tugging the covers up over both of them. "This is nice," he sighed a long moment later as she settled against his side, her head pillowed on the broad expanse of his chest.

"Mm," Kristin agreed and pressed an affectionate kiss over his chest. Nathan didn’t open his eyes, but corded muscle flexed and rippled under the warm contact. Kristin shifted against his body, snuggling deeper into the curve under his arm as he fitted a gently caressing hand to the back of her head.

"No pressure. We can just sleep."

"Mmhm," she mumbled in agreement. In stpite of her exhaustion, she couldn't resist the temptation to slip a leg between his. She ran the bottom of her foot lightly over his hair roughened calf and spread her hands across his chest, enjoying the strength and solidity of his body. Muscle and sinew flexed in the wake of the light caresses and he dropped a hand to the curve of her bare shoulder.

"I thought the only thing on the menu was sleep," Nathan reminded her.

"We are," Kristin assured him. She pressed another kiss to the hollow just below his collar bone and trailed a hand down the center of his torso, teasing the flat plains of muscle until she reached the sharp jut of his hipbone.

"That’s funny, because I’m feeling much more awake." Nathan opened one eye and peered down at her.

"I noticed." Her hand slipped a little lower.

Nathan sucked in a lungful of air and snapped both eyes open. "You certainly did," he agreed.

Kristin chuckled softly, arching up to nibble on his ear lobe as she ran her fingers up his belly, outlining the muscles that led up into the curve of his ribcage. "I’m very observant," she whispered.

Nathan suddenly rolled her beneath him, straddling her hips with his knees and bracing his elbows on either side of her head as he accepted that sleep was going to have to wait. He grinned down at her. "You are definitely very," murmured and pressed a light kiss over the tiny cleft in her chin. He trailed his lips down her throat. "Though I must admit, observant isn’t the first adjective that comes to mind."

Kristin curved her hands to his back, fingers digging in to the corded muscles as she tried to drag him closer. "Really?" she questioned.

"Mmhm."He began feathering light kisses over the curve of her breasts between adjectives. "I prefer gorgeous...sexy...warm...soft...beautiful...sweet...funny..." he shifted his weight to ease a knee between hers, muscles quivering as she raised her calf to brush it along the outside of his thigh and hip. "Mine," he added and ran his hand along her thigh to cup the underside of her knee.

"Yours?" Kristin repeated, mildly uncomfortable with the choice of words.

"For as long as you’ll have me," he teased, knowingly turning the grammar on its side.

Kristin relaxed at the joking note in his voice. She hooked her foot over the sweep of his hip, running her toes along the back of his thigh to draw him down to her. "I suppose I can live with that," she confessed. "As long as you’re mine as well."

"Don’t worry," Nathan assured her. Powerful muscles flexed as he lowered his body into hers. "I kind of like the idea...besides, no one else will have me."

"Ha," Kristin groaned, back arching as erotic sensations quick-silvered along already sensitive nerve endings. "I can think of a half dozen women lusting after you offhand...which is quite..." His body moved against hers, drawing a low moan of pleasure. "Amazing," she gasped, then continued in broken syllables. "When you consider the fact that...I’m not...entirely...certain of my own name...at the...moment..."

"Really?" Nathan groaned against her breast.

"I think...it’s...Kristin Westphalen," she answered, deliberately being obtuse. "But...if you want to...argue...I’d give you the...point."

"Not that," Nathan panted. "The other part...about the women."

Her nails left half moon indentations in his back. "Forget I said that," she growled. "It was just a...passion induced...hallucination..."

"You’re...jealous," Nathan chuckled. His muscles pulled taut as he surged against her with increasing power.

Kristin arched up to meet the strength of his thrusts, enjoying the contained energy and feel of his body against hers. "Damn right," she confirmed. "The first one that...touches you is...dead."

"I guess I’ll just have to save...poor souls..from such...an...untimely end...and not...give them a...second...glance..."

Kristin chuckled. "You do...that..." she encouraged wholeheartedly, and dropped a hand to his hip, guiding some semblance of the tempo.

Nathan took the hint, letting her control the rhythm. "Like that?"

She groaned deep in her throat, arching her neck to his questing lips as she ran her other hand up his bicep, fingers following the intricate blend of cord and muscle. "Like that," she affirmed.

He found her lips with his, kissing hungrily as they both lost any hint of the conversation in favor of physical sensation. Aside from a few softly uttered endearments and encouragements, words had become utterly superfluous.

At some point, Nathan rolled onto his back, pulling Kristin over on top of him, allowing her to control the final moments. She braced her hands on his shoulders, leaning against the supportive bolster of his hands where they fitted to her waist. She nipped the point of his chin. "Now," the near inaudible command lit a fire in his eyes, and he grinned, clutching her tight as fireworks exploded at the back of his skull. When she collapsed against his chest, he cupped the back of her head in his palm and relaxed into the mattress.

"That was nice," Kristin panted near his ear.

"Definitely...nice..." Nathan groaned between ragged gasps.

She slid partially aside, but kept her arms and cheek sprawled across his upper torso. She pressed her cheek against his chest, listening as his heart-rate slowed to something approaching normal. "Think you can sleep now?" she teased.

"I think so," Nathan mumbled, his breathing already growing deeper. He was nearly there when he suddenly felt the woman in his arms stiffen and push bolt upright.

A string of obscenities erupted from Kristin’s mouth.

"What’s wrong?" Nathan demanded. He flipped on the light over the bed to find her on her knees next to him, her eyes round, her skin pale.

"I don’t believe I did this. I cannot believe I simply forgot," she muttered over and over, running a hand through her hair in a nervous gesture.

"Whoa, whoa," Nathan soothed and caught her hand in his as he cupped her face with his other. "What’s wrong."

Kristin froze, catching her lower lips between her teeth as she stared at him through her lashes. "You’re not going to like this," she murmured at last.

"I’ve already survived everything your family has thrown at me. How much worse can it get?" He should have known by that time, never—ever— to ask that question in relation to his chief scientist. There was always an answer.

"I’ve been so bloody...addlebrained...intoxicated... and generally demented that I completely forgot..." she swore, then fell silent.

"What?!" Nathan demanded.

"Birth control," she dropped the bomb. Nathan’s heart stopped as she continued babbling, "I was using a Natholozine implant until last month...but as there wasn't much bloody need for it, and I was having some side effects I didn't like, I had Joshua remove it. It just totally slipped my mind...not exactly a great recommendation for my medical skills. God, this is embarrassing." She paused, then pleaded nervously, "Nathan, speak to me."

He swallowed hard, and searched for the words that suddenly seemed to have completely left his conscious mind. "It never occurred to me it might be a problem," he admitted at last.

"I don’t spend three days a month grumpy and bloated for nothing," Kristin complained, sounding insulted.

He paused to collect his thoughts before speaking. "If it happens," he sighed, "we’ll deal with it..."

She stiffened, then gradually relaxed as he continued.

"Personally, I’d prefer to elope to Vegas and avoid all families and the crew, but if you want Cindy there, I can understand that. I like Cindy," he admitted. She was a little overly sincere perhaps, but she lacked the intimidating aspect of the rest of them. Plus she seemed relatively sane.

"Good God, no," Kristin denied instantly.

"I don’t like Cindy?" Nathan questioned.

"You like Cindy," she assured him, "But no, I wouldn’t want her there. I’d never hear the end of it if that child thought I had to get married. Particularly not since I’ve spent the last several years lecturing her on the importance of birth control."

Nathan chuckled softly at the mental picture that painted. He slipped his arms around Kristin’s waist and eased her over until she was kneeling between the spread of his thighs and they were chest to chest. He dropped a light kiss on her forehead. "Whatever happens," he promised. "We’ll work it out.

She pressed her face into the crook of his neck. "It wouldn’t be so bad, would it, if it happened?"

Nathan thought about, and found he actually rather liked the idea...however... "If that is the case, we’re calling your father long distance to tell him."

"Absolutely," Kristin agreed. "Preferably, after the child’s three or four years old."

Nathan laughed softly, flipping the light off,before he slipped back into bed, cuddling her close. Within minutes, her breathing was slow and deep. He tighted his arms around the warm figure pressed against his side. No, it wouldn’t be so bad at all.

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

The reptitive pounding of an alarm clock broke into the rather pleasant dream Katherine Hitchcock was enjoying and she sat up with a curse, grabbing her head with a low groan. God, the dreams she’d had. She really had to get over this obsession with her ex....

...Husband....

She finished out the thought even as it sank in that the object of her—well, no, they weren’t dreams, at least some of them weren’t— was pushing up on his hands, his expression equally bleary.

Ben looked up.

Katie looked down.

They both uttered nearly identical obscenities at the same moment. Katie glanced at the clock, paling as she noted the time. "I’m going to be late," she snarled and bounded out of bed, careless of her nudity. "Why the hell didn’t you set the alarm for earlier?"

Krieg shrugged as he sat up in bed. "This is when I always get up," he muttered.

Katie grabbed the dress she’d arrived in off the floor. "You tore the zipper," she groaned, noting the damage they’d done in their passion-induced frenzy.

"Just calm down," Krieg tried to soothe his ex-wife.

"Calm down!?" Katie exploded. "I’m supposed to be part of the honor guard when Secretary General Noyce and Admiral Westphalen leave in..." she glanced at her watch, "...ten minutes. Oh, God, I’ll never get back to my cabin, change and get down to the launch bay in time."

"There’s a simple solution," Krieg assured her. "We’ll just..."

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

"This is never going to work," Kristin hissed in an aside to Nathan as they stepped off the mag-lev together.

"Just keep your chin up and act like everything is normal. Bill’s not going to open his mouth, and neither will anyone else," Nathan advised her grimly.

"Easy for you to say. You aren’t standing there wearing one of my uniforms.’

Nathan glanced over, taking in the way his uniform fit her. The elastic belt cinched in at the waist, and he was broad enough in the chest that it bloused comfortably over her bust, though the hips were borderline snug. The most obvious problem with the fit was the bulky pad of fabric at mid-forearm where she’d rolled up the sleeves, and the obvious turned under pants cuffs. Well, of course, there was the fact that the whole uniform was the wrong color and carried captain’s bars. At least the shoes were hers, since he still had the ones lost on the shuttle. Still, the overall effect didn’t seem likely to fool anyone. He wondered if he could arrange a power outage in the launch bay just as they stepped in. A little darkness would definitely help with this particular con job. "Look at it this way, at least you look better in one of mine than I’d look in yours."

The comment earned him a dirty look.

Crocker looked up as the two entered the launch bay together. The security chief glanced at the doctor, then did a doubletake that was borderline comical. He turned a questioning look on his captain and friend, who only shrugged. Crocker cleared his throat to cover a grin, but didn’t say a word.

Kristin felt a violent blush creep upward. She strongly suspected she was going to be wearing it for the rest of the day and perhaps beyond.

"Mister Crocker," Nathan prompted.

The security chief straightened his shoulders and became all business. "Almost ready for launch, sir."

Joshua Levin and Jonathan Ford were both standing off to one side. Just finished with a long shift, and already out on his feet, Ford never noticed the doctor’s unusual apparel. Levin did, and flashed his superior a curious look. Kristin glanced up at Nathan where he stood next to her, and Levin nodded in approval, though she suspected that wouldn’t have been his response if he’d been aware of her key omission of the last few days. She resolved never to tell him. The younger doctor could be quite a nag when he felt like it.

Miguel and Tim and Terry were the next to arrive. Both men were a pale but distinct shade of green and leaning heavily on Terry where she strode between them. As the threesome reached the edge of the line, Terry pulled away, propping them against each other. "I, uh, have to do a preflight check," she told them.

It was doubtful either man heard her.

"Right," she sighed, and tucked a slip of paper in Tim’s uniform pocket. "This is my email address," she told Tim. "I don’t expect you to remember that, so it’s pretty self-explanatory. All you have to do is remember it’s there. Can you do that for me?"

Tim mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative.

Terry shook her head, sighing heavily as she moved away. As she drew near Nathan and her aunt, Bridger flashed a questioning look at the young woman and then the near-catatonic pair.

Terry glanced over at them, then shook her head. "Get real," she answered his inference. "By the time Celine called me to come pick them up, they made this morning look positively lively by comparison." She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes in prim disapproval. "You should be aware that our current U.E.O. Secretary General is a very bad influence."

Nathan nodded. "I remember,’ he admitted through a hint of a smile.

Terry turned to trade a smile, then a hard hug with Kristin. "You be careful, huh," the younger woman ordered, her voice just a little thick. "You’re virtually the only responsible family I have left to serve as an example." She carefully didn’t specify whether for good or ill.

Kristin nodded, brushing at the hair that fell across her niece’s brow in an affectionate gesture. "You too. And let me know if you need any help getting another job."

"Ah, don’t worry about that. Celine...er...Sister Sarah, already rehired me—at a substantial increase in salary, I might add." She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Apparently, she’s a tad nervous that I might sell the story about what happened here to the National Enquirer after she makes her grand conversion, discovers the way of the Lord, and opens a TV ministry."

"I see," Kristin exhaled. "And the reason she believes that?"

"I told her I would," Terry said practically.

For once, Kristin couldn’t argue with her niece’s slightly larcenous impulses. "Please, pay off your student loans soon," she pleaded.

Terry chuckled softly. "And while we’re making suggestions. Always keep a change of clothes at his place." She tugged on the front zipper tab of Kristin’s borrowed uniform. "This is really lame, and if Gran and Grandad notice, you're going to be sooo dead."

"Go," Kristin snapped.

Terry hurried off with a soft laugh.

"Charming child," Nathan commented absolutely deadpan.

Kristin shrugged, glancing up at him through her lashes. "She’s not so bad...though," she glanced over at O'Neill and Ortiz where they were propped, "I’m not certain I did Tim any favors by setting him up with her."

Nathan glanced at his watch, wondering where the hell Noyce was. He was still trying to decide whether he should send someone in search when Hitchcock and Krieg arrived. "You’re late, Commander," he clipped at Katie, then suddenly did a doubletake as he noted the rank patch on her shoulder.

Hitchcock didn’t notice the piercing stare. She was too busy ogling Kristin’s "new" uniform. Kristin kept her eyes firmly on the far wall. Of the four of them, only Krieg seemed relaxed.

Nathan tapped Hitchcock's shoulder. "Why the lieutenant’s bars?" he asked.

Katie flushed bright red, but resolutely tried to answer. "Old uniform I put on by mistake," she lied none-too-believably.

The captain’s eyes ran the full length of her body. "And the fact that it’s a bit...er...large on you?" he asked at last.

"Lost weight, sir."

Kristin glanced over at that one, rolling her eyes. Nathan flashed his lover a glare, his look reminding her that she was in no position to say anything. He fixed a firm gaze on Hitchcock. "I don’t want to know—ever—do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Hitchcock took her place next to Kristin while a grinning Krieg sauntered along and took up the position on the other side of his ex-wife.

"Lost weight?" Kristin whispered to the lieutenant commander.

Katie glanced over, noting the doctor’s outfit. "At least mine’s the right color."

"If you don’t mind a demotion." Kristin cast a gaze down on the rank patch on her own shoulder. "Personally, I’ve always believed in upward mobility."

Listening to the conversation with an avid ear, Ben Krieg almost swallowed his tongue.

"Hush," Nathan silenced them all just as Admiral and Doctor Westphalen-Senior stepped into the launch bay.

The admiral’s gaze ran across the the interior of the bay and he seemed about to say something, but thought better of it. "Interesting boat you have here, Captain," he said dryly as he reached Nathan.

Nathan looked a little ill. "It really wasn’t this..." he hunted for the right words, before finally settling on, "...unusual, until recently."

Jessica Westphalen cleared her throat and flashed her husband a pointed glare, prompting him to admit rather ungracefully. "I suppose we may have had something to do with that."

"I really don’t feel so good," Tim O'Neill moaned suddenly, drawing every gaze in the bay.

"At least you still have a few bucks until payday," Ortiz groaned in an equally agonized voice.

"Yeah, ‘bout three," Tim mumbled, though his voice carried across the deck with surprising clarity.

Lost in their own misery, the two never noticed the watching eyes.

"You had help," Nathan assured the admiral, thinking he was going to strangle Bill Noyce the next time he got him alone.

"I wonder if that will teach those two not to play cards and drink with sharks?" Kristin mused aloud.

"It might," Nathan commented, "if they live."

"Oh, they’ll live," the admiral said with the assurance of an officer who’s seen a lot of men under his command in a similar condition. "The good Lord always protects children and dumb animals—and in my experience, young sailors usually qualify as both."

"You certainly did," his wife chuckled and earned a dirty look from her husband. "However, we really should be going."

"Aren’t you going back with the Anklam launch?" Kristin questioned.

Her mother shook her head. "No, Celine has plans to discover God, so I’m out one grant—"

"The vampire population is doubtless breathing easier," Andrew inserted helpfully. It was his turn to earn a dirty look.

"I have never hunted vampires in my life." She paused for a beat. "That was grandfather."

Nathan glanced over at Kristin who shrugged and rolled her eyes. "You don’t want to know," she assured him. He believed her wholeheartedly.

Andrew stepped in front of his daughter. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat before speaking. "You be careful out there and remember...I’ll damn well never forgive you if you get yourself killed."

"Aye-aye, sir," Kristin clipped,offering a respectable salute.

Her father smiled and pulled her into a fast hug. "And, for God’s sake, keep a change of clothes in his cabin," he whispered near her ear. "You’d embarrass your mother if she realized this was a captain’s uniform."

"Right," Kristin sighed as she broke away.

A hug from her mother came next and two women held on for a long moment. "Get a prenuptial agreement this time, will you," Jessica whispered softly enough that only her daughter could hear. "And, please, keep a change of clothes in his cabin. Your father would blow a gasket if he noticed."

"Right," Kristin agreed again.

Jessica pulled up short in front of Nathan, eyeing him for a long moment before she held out her hand, curving it into his larger one. "Take care, Captain," she suggested. She glanced over at her daughter and leaned close enough that the others couldn’t overhear. "You’ll be needing all the energy you can muster when the two a.m. feedings roll around."

Nathan swallowed hard and glanced at his watch. "Where the hell is Noyce?" he grumbled, trying valiantly to ignore the politely patient look Jessica Westphalen turned on him. It was probably nothing more than her idea of a joke, he told himself over and over.

Terry had finished up the preflight check on her own shuttle and she popped her head into the U.E.O. launch, speaking briefly with the pilot. After a moment, she jogged over. "The pilot wanted me to tell you the secretary general is...er...already aboard the launch," she informed Bridger.

Nathan noted her expression. "Am to take it that he’s..." Nathan trailed off, but the implication was obvious.

"A bit indisposed?" she offered. "Yes, sir...quite indisposed."

On cue, Bill Noyce’s distinctive voice sang in the background, "Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest, yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum."

"This should make for a pleasant trip home," Andrew sighed and caught his wife’s hand in his own. "Come on, luv. We might as well get this over with."

Jessica grinned and waved as she allowed her husband to lead her away.

Nathan turned a questioning look on Terry, who shrugged. "I’d take them, but Grandfather hates my taste in music." She was about to head back for the launch when Celine entered.

The maroon muumuu had been traded for a natural cotton robe, though where she had come up with it aboard the seaQuest baffled Nathan. A string of rosary beads now hung prominently around her throat. Her hair was as red as ever.

All eyes in the room followed the former psychic-to-the-stars, and future-evangelist-to-the-picture-tube’s progress. She held out a hand as she reached Nathan and made blessing motions. "Thank you, Captain, for guiding our passage safely—with the aid of the Lord, of course."

"Of course," Nathan agreed blandly.

Terry hid her face in her hand. "Lose the rosary beads, Celine," she muttered.

Celine turned a bright beady gaze on her. "Sister Sarah," she reminded her once and future employee. "And why?" she demanded.

"You aren’t Catholic."

Celine/Sister Sarah looked genuinely confused. "That makes a difference?"

"Generally, yes," Terry confirmed.

The newly named Sister Sarah shook her head. "I’m gonna have to read up on this religion thing," she decided out loud as she wandered in the direction of the shuttle. She abruptly spun back and tossed Terry a sound crystal. "I absolutely refuse to listen to that music of yours again."

Terry waited until Celine had entered the shuttle, then glanced down at the crystal in her hand. "The Complete Liberace Collection? I don't think so." She tossed it over her shoulder. "And, on that note, I’d better get moving." She traded another fast hug with her aunt, winked at Nathan and hurried to get moving.

Nathan found himself gnawing on his lower lip as the two vehicles were loaded into the airlock, terrified that something would go wrong and they’d wind up staying. The others began to float away, but he stayed. He wasn’t going to relax again until he knew they all gone for a fact. "By the way," he mumbled to the woman standing next to him.

"Hm?" Kristin murmured.

"Is your mother really psychic?" he asked, thinking of her little "prediction" concerning two a.m. feedings.

Kristin shook her head. "Not the least," she assured him. "Bit clairvoyant is all."

Nathan dropped his head into hands, whimpering softly. He could almost feel the exhaustion that came with two a.m. feedings.

EPILOGUE

Strong hands gripped the drawer pulls over Nathan’s bed with white-knuckled intensity. "Is this going to go on...all...night?" a husky voice gasped in the darkened interior of the room.

"Probably," a second voice admitted.

"I really think this is rather...petty," the last word came out as a squeak and the speaker dropped a hand from the drawer pulls. The soft shuffling sounds and low groans stopped instantly. "Come on."

"Nope."

There was a low sigh and Kristin returned her hand to the drawer pull. "I still think it’s bloody petty," she complained.

"Absolutely," Nathan agreed cheerfully, and went back to what he’d been doing before she interrupted him.

"It’s not like I invited them aboard."

Nathan paused long enough to merrily concur. "True."

"It’s really Bill Noyce’s fault if it’s anyone’s."

Nathan paused again. "Er, Kristin, just for the record, I have never—ever— wanted Bill Noyce in this position."

"Har dee, har har," Kristin snapped. "You know what I mean."

Nathan chuckled softly. "Am I to take it from your tone that you would appreciate a more...er...active role in the evening’s activities?"

She almost kicked him for that one. "Yes," she gasped, her breathing ragged from the sensual haze he was creating.

"I’ll think about it," Nathan murmured at last, the low vibration of his voice against her flesh drawing another low moan of pleasure.

"Nathan," Kristin pleaded. The muscles across her back and shoulders pulled incredibly taut, and her skin was sheen with perspiration. "The U.E.O. will...start...asking...questions...if your chief...scientist is found...naked...and...stark...raving...insane...in your...cabin."

Nathan chuckled softly as he rose to stretch full length over her body. He nibbled lightly on the point of her chin. "You have a point," he admitted. "On the other hand," he mockingly debated the comment. "I do have a fair degree of pull with the secretary general, particularly since he got bombed on my boat, so I could probably talk them into overlooking it."

"Please," Kristin groaned.

"Pretty please?" Nathan teased.

"With a bloody cherry on top," she snapped impatiently.

"Tsk-tsk, language," he chided, his voice melting off into a groan as he moved against her body.

She arched up to catch his earlobe between her teeth, and deliver a light warning bite. "That will be the most polite thing you hear tonight if you don’t—"

Nathan’s mouth covered hers as he reached up to tug her hands down. "Better?" he questioned through the kiss.

"Mh-hm," Kristin moaned and dropped her hands to play encouragingly over the broad expanse of his back, then ranged up through his hair and down over his hips. "Much."

"Good," Nathan sighed. He braced his hands against the mattress on either side of her head, muscles knotting as his body gave way to sensation. The accompanying melody of soft groans and low whispers gained steadily in intensity with each passing moment, until the comm-station over Kristin’s head chirped for attention. "Oh, God, no," Nathan pleaded, but the unit only chirped a second time.

"Not now," Kristin moaned.

"Damn, damn, damn," he hissed as he reached for the panel. "Bridger, here."

"Uh, sir, this is Crocker. We have a bit of a problem on seadeck."

At that moment, Nathan couldn’t possibly have cared less. "What?" he growled, struggling not to groan as Kristin continued to move beneath him.

"A...uh...coupla strange dolphins came in with Darwin when he got back from feeding. A female and a little one...and...well...the vocoder can’t tell ‘em all apart, so it’s just randomly translating...and...well...maybe, you should just listen for yourself."

Nathan almost screamed. The last damn thing he had any interest in doing at that moment was listening to a bunch of dolphins.

Crocker obviously held his com-link out so that it would pick up the high-pitched comments coming from the vocoder. "Daddy...Not the daddy...Your baby...Weird pod...Your pod now.....Not the DADDY!!!"

Kristin giggled. "Sounds like responsibility caught up with Darwin."

"Cap?" Crocker question, then realized his captain wasn’t alone, and just who was with him. "Oh...ah...sorry...I guess we can...uh...handle it...for now"

"Feed our guests, leave them where they are and I’ll deal with the problem...later," Nathan grumbled and clicked the comm offline.

Kristin was still giggling.

"I gather you find this humorous," he complained, resuming his tempo. He groaned softly as she dug her fingers into his back and tugged him closer. "Another defenseless male caught in some woman’s clutches," he said dramatically. Of course, at that moment he would have killed anyone who tried to remove him from her clutches.

"I haven’t noticed you complaining," she gasped.

"No...I guess you haven’t," he admitted. "Oh, well, at least now I’ll have something to laugh at him about...and I know who’s two a.m. feedings your mother was talking about."

Kristin didn’t have time or energy to ask what he meant by that remark as white hot pleasure surged through her. Nathan was only a heartbeat behind her. They were both sinking into welcome lassitude when it occurred to him that dolphins don’t require two a.m. feedings. He comforted himself with the thought that it was Jessica Westphalen’s idea of a joke. At least he really hoped it was....

THE END