AN: Well, let's hope Lucas isn't seeing things and there really is someone coming up the beach. Lol I'm going to be attempting to write this story and the tP one at the same time, so if updates take quite awhile, you know why. Unedited at the moment but I will go back and proof, never fear!
This chapter turned out far more narratively than I intended, but I hope it's still bearable.
Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and reviewing.
Laurie Beth: Sorry to hear your birthday was slow- hope things have picked up now. :c)
Mariel3: I'm sorry about the cliffhanger thing! I have a very bad habit of doing that! Lol Hope this chapter helps... some at least.
Lynnp: Glad you liked Wendy/Kris. Something tells me they'll be clashing quite a bit in the future. ;c)
Nikizhere2: Thank you so much for letting me know you like the story so far!
Questfan: It's so cool to get a review from you- thanks! I have been trying really hard to infuse the story with as much factual science stuff as I can without getting boring. And homework is a must since I'm not naturally scientifically inclined. Lol
Note: Chapter title taken from the song of the same name by David Bowie.
Chapter 5: Unwashed And Somewhat Slightly Dazed
If there was anything that Lucas had unwavering faith in it was his knowledge of computers and his eyesight. And so far in his short life, his eyes had held up their end of the deal. Well, Lucas thought, momentarily distracted, there was that time on the George... but that really shouldn't count.
He refocused his attention on the figure making its way slowly, almost painfully, up the beach, only to find it had split in two. Lucas blinked several times, then rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. He blinked again. The figure had changed once more- there were now two distinct silhouettes carrying a large piece of drift wood or an outrigger canoe approaching the station. With the rain splattering the glass in dime size droplets, it was impossible to get a clear of view of the figures and what they were carrying. He strained to see, hopping from one foot to the other as though that might somehow help clear his field of vision.
As the shapes neared, the rain did not yield as Lucas hoped it would. Instead, it seemed to willfully pour down harder. Lucas frowned, confused, and pressed his nose harder into the window until it was completely flat against the glass. The remaining figures turned slightly as they wounded their way up the path that led to the research station. His hot breath against the cold window fogged up the glass around his face, hindering his sight completely. Pettishly, he rubbed the mist away with the sleeve of his too-large sweatshirt. The figures were turned even more to the side and Lucas could see that there actually were three people and not two people and a canoe; two were carrying the third on a funny-looking stretcher between them. It was the third person who held the teen's attention; he was a dark-skinned man who wore something that looked suspiciously like a black UEO military uniform.
Lucas jumped away from the glass as though it was suddenly on fire. His first thought was to ask Darwin to find the Captain. He turned to face the interior of the room, and was disoriented momentarily when he couldn't see the moonpool. Then he remembered that he was not on the seaQuest.
Captain Bridger was not around at the moment and Lucas couldn't blame the man for locking himself away with the scientists from this amort bunch of officers. He saw Brody standing against the wall with his arms folded over his waist, looking anything but friendly. Lucas dashed over to him, pointed to the window, and reported his discovery. The security chief looked uninterested if not a little annoyed. Brody shrugged the youth away, grunting that he was seeing things. When Lucas asked where Bridger was, the lieutenant barked sharply not to bother the Captain.
Lucas bristled and stormed away from Brody; he received the man's message loud and clear: Go play with your video games and don't bother the adults.
After a few more similar responses from the other "new" crew members, Lucas decided to avoid them altogether and turned to his friends for help. The reaction from them wasn't much better. They were too wrapped up in their own gloom and doom about the failed rescue effort and offered little assistance. At the most, he received conflicting reports of where Bridger was. Largely though, they shooed him away and would not listen to him as he tried to tell them what he saw. No one would be out in such weather, they said. Even Ben, brushed him off, more interested in commiserating with Katie than listening to what Lucas had say.
Lucas stood in the middle in the room, glancing helplessly at his lifeless shipmates, frustrated and at a loss. The phrase "mindless military drones" sprang to mind for some reason as he looked at them, but Lucas quickly dismissed it, chalking up their lifelessness to melancholy and concern.
Great, Lucas thought despondently. No one's taking me seriously- now what?
He reviewed his rather limited options. When I really need Darwin, we're in two completely different places! Figures. He's the only one who'll listen to me and-...
Lucas's eyes suddenly lit up with an idea. Instantly, he was off, out of the room, and down the corridor, dodging surprised personnel as he went. If he needed someone to listen, someone to take him seriously, then he needed...
"Dr. Kris!"
The slam of the door bursting open alerted those in the other room of his presence. Unfortunately for Kristopher, he did not react quite quick enough to avoid Lucas's barge into the room. The door slammed open and he jumped to avoid being hit by the heavy wood, but instead was nailed by the boy, who, at first glance, seemed to have spent the last hour on a sugar binge as hyper as he was. He wasn't given a chance to recover from the collision Lucas didn't seem notice and was assaulted by a rapid fire stream of words from the teen.
Tehu and Oshodi glanced from Lucas to each other and back again- Lucas was talking so fast it was impossible to make sense of what he was saying. One word ran over the word before it and the pile up words continued on until there nothing but a wreckage of sentences and phrases. And suddenly it was over. Silence filled the room. Lucas eyed Kristopher anxiously, then glanced at each man expectantly waiting for a response. Why isn't anyone saying anything?
"Well?" he asked, tapping his heel impatiently against the floor tiles. Intense disappointment deluged him as he watched the doctor's expression. His shoulder slumped forward. "You don't believe me either, do you?"
"Well..." Kris, having fully recovered, drew out the word in one phenomenally long syllable. "I might if I had any idea what you just said. Give it another go, why don't you, but slow down; this isn't the Indy 500."
With a theatrical sigh and look that screamed "adults!" in the most exasperated manner, Lucas began again. "I was watching the beach and even though it's raining really hard I know that I saw two people coming toward the station and they were carrying someone between. Even though it's raining, I'm positive one of those people is Commander Ford. But I can't find Captain Bridger and no one else will listen to me- they think I'm seeing things. Even though-"
"It's raining," Kristopher raised his hands to the torrent of words that poured from the boy. "We get it." He pursed his lips together in a tight line.
Lucas caught the look on his face and threw his hands up in defeat and let them fall back against his thighs with a slap, assuming that the doctor, like all the other adults, thought he was conjuring up what he wanted to see. Unable to bear another rejection, especially from Kristopher, Lucas turned on his heel and headed for the door.
Kristopher shot him a criminating look. "If you're just going stalk off before hearing what I have to say," he said, his words laced with aggravation, "Then why did you bother coming to me?"
Guiltily, Lucas checked up before reaching the door. With the look of a scolded puppy, he walked back over to the doctor.
Kristopher gazed at him steadily. "You wanna hear what I have to say?"
The teen nodded, sheepish yet vaguely suspicious at the same time.
"All right, then," the doctor said, grabbing Lucas playfully by the scruff of the neck. "I say let's check it out."
It was not hard to imagine Kristopher Westphalen as a military commander, though Ben would not ever say such a thing to the anti-military doctor's face. Yet it was undeniable that Westphalen possessed the traits desired in such a leadership position. Ben decided that he would much prefer that, if something were to happen to the Captain, the x-o, and Katie, Kristopher should be next in the order of succession as he seemed far more capable of making and invoking rationale decisions than most of the general crew.
Ben came to this conclusion as he watched Westphalen reanimated his inactive shipmates and himself to aid three lost souls unfortunate enough to be out in the monsoon. He felt guilty that Kristopher had to prod him to take Lucas seriously and for ignoring Lucas earlier when his friend tried to tell him that they were out there.
As he hurried off to find Captain Bridger, Ben glanced over his shoulder to see everyone quick to do whatever they were asked. If any resented being told what to do by a science officer, they were smart enough to keep their mouths shut.
Must be a Westphalen family trait, he thought before asking one of the research assistants if they had seen the Captian recently.
Lucas didn't argue as one might have supposed when he was told to remain in the research station while Kristopher, along with Brody and Piccolo, went out in the storm. He seemed to be satisfied with staying behind the window glass now that people were taking him seriously. But satisfied wasn't quite the word for what he was feeling. Relief, maybe, because he was sure that it was Commander Ford out there with the other two. No listens to me, he thought saturninely, just because of my age. It's not fair! And now they're all acting like they saw them all along, now that an adult's said the same thing I said. He grunted irritably and gave the wall board a kick which only served to gain a look of condescending reprimand from a crewman standing nearby.
Outside, the rain had relented only slightly. Island storms tended to be sudden, furious, and short lived, but this one seemed to be going against that norm as it had been pouring nearly an hour. The puddles that formed in the first part of the storm finally overflowed their boundaries, pooling together to form massive ponds around the station. A river of rain water coursed down the paved path to the research station ending a waterfall that cascaded down the steps to the beach. Rain gear did little to prevent the seaQuest crew from getting drenched. Brody led their way down the path to Lucas's people who were about three meters in front of them. The mismatched group clambered slowly, but steadily along before being forced to halt when they nearly dropped their companion as they struggled to regained their grip on the makeshift stretcher. The seaQuest trio quickened to their pace to reach the vagrants whose energy and strength seemed to have deserted them. Brody took quick assessment of them, two males, one female. He exhaled a sharp sigh of relief- the man on the stretcher was Commander Ford- a very bruised and beat up Commander Ford, but that was certainly better than no Commander at all.
The rain and wind made it difficult to hear anything other than the thunder booms. Piccolo attempted to talk to the other man, a wiry native with French ancestry, but he didn't seem to speak English. Or he just couldn't hear what the seaman was saying. Brody motioned to him not to bother with communication, but to head back to the station. There would be time for questioning later. Piccolo picked up the head of the stretch while Brody took the foot and the lead. The man seemed to regain some strength once the weight of the stretcher was lifted from him and had no trouble following them back to the station. The woman on the other hand was not so well off. Exhausted and near collapse, she sank unintentially into a puddle of water. Before they started off, Brody watched to make sure Kristopher didn't need any help with her. He went forward at a quick march and didn't see the doctor's reaction to the woman or the woman's reaction to the doctor, but Tony did.
She was still hunched over in the puddle breathing heavily when Kristopher offered his hand to her. Tony could not make out her facial features when she looked up at the doctor as they were obscured by her hair which was black, either by nature or water saturation. Kristopher must have been able to see her clearly as the concern washed from his face, replace by caustic indifference. He pulled her off the ground, roughly in Tony's estimation. The moment she was on her feet, she jerked away from him with as much callousness and chose to walk a good distance away from the doctor. Kristopher seemed with less disgruntled with the arrangement, but kept a wary eye on her. She toddled unsteadily, clearly not doing well, but stubbornly refused any assistance from the science officer. Irritated with her, Kristopher finally took her by the wrist and forced her walk close to him where he could at least keep her balanced.
Tony's curiosity was certainly piqued. Maybe it's the doc's ex-wife or something, he thought, his imagination already getting away from him.
The troop did not return to the station the via the main entrance but through a side door that led directly to the medical facility of the station. Huddled inside the small entry way that doubled as a waiting room, the six people had a brief respite before being swarmed by medical personnel that Brody had alerted of their arrival.
The woman, now on the opposite room from Kristopher, shivered against the cool air of the infirmary. Leaning against the wall, she nodded shakily at Ford. "Be careful with him," she told them authoritatively. Her voice was thick and sounded strained. She stopped speaking in order to cough several times. "He's suffered multiple contusions, lacerations, and abrasions; at least one broken ribs, maybe more. It's also likely is acidosis, alveolitis, hypoxaemia, and angioedema," she paused, raise a hand to her head. The woman seemed be struggling with her own condition, shortness of breath. "But the foremost concern," she emphasized, meeting Kristopher's gaze for the first time. "Nitrogen narcosis- he was exposed at too great a depth."
Kristopher nodded, unruffled by such a concise analysis. The military men exchange surprised but impressed looks. Brody was skeptical, however. But before he could utter any of this incredulity, the flood gates opened and the medical personnel inundated the six and surrounded the Commander.
Dr. Smith pushed her way to the front of the throng and immediately began to bark orders to her staff. As they prepped Ford for transport to a suitable room, Smith faced the others with aggravation was written all over her face. It was towards Kristopher that she channeled her choler. "Why wasn't I informed of this situation? " she demanded hotly, her voice full of accusations.
"You weren't around," he shrugged apathetically, perceptibly not in the mood for a fight with her. When she opened her mouth to say more, Kristopher was quick to cut her off. "Look, I couldn't personally run around and inform everyone of everything. We had a situation to deal with. I sent someone to get the Captian and assumed that word would eventually get to you as well. Apparently, it didn't- not my problem."
As much as Smith would have liked to continue to combat him, could not afford to and so shot him one final glare indicating that she believed he deliberately kept her out of the loop.
Before he left to change into dry clothing, Brody thought he should inform Dr. Smith of the woman's diagnosis of Ford's injuries. It took him several minutes to get through what seemed like unnecessary hordes of medical personnel. When he grabbed hold of Smith, she did seem very happy to see him.
"I'm really busy right now, Jim," she said distractedly, gesturing something at the blood-gas technician.
"Yeah, I know but there's something I thought you should know." The urgency in his voice made Smith acquiesce and give him a moment's audience. Brody repeated as much of the woman's diagnosis as he could remember, hoping he was getting the medical jargon correct.
"Thanks, Jim," she said kindly, but dismissively. "But that woman's not a doctor. And even if she was, there's no way she could tell what's wrong with him in such a short time."
Brody frowned. "Yeah, I thought it was weird, too, but Kris sure seemed to think she knew what she talking about."
Smith growled contemptuously at the mention of Westphalen. "He's not a medical doctor, either, Jim."
The Captain was located shortly after the men went out into the storm only to wait for nearly an hour before hearing anything about his x-o. He stood in the lounge area where the rest of the crew congregated to wait for news. After what seemed like an eternity, a nurse stepped in the room and called the Captain over.
"Dr. Smith would like to speak with you," she informed him quietly.
"How's he doing, Doctor?" Bridger asked when he saw Smith slip out of one the recovery rooms. She didn't look like someone had just died so he took that as a hopeful sign.
"Well," Smith began with a deep inhale. "He's definitely worse for wear, but he will be fine, I'm happy to report."
"I'm certainly glad to hear that." Internally, he heaved a huge sigh of relief. "What's the rundown on his injuries?"
Smith's face darkened a bit at this query. "He's suffered multiple contusions, lacerations, and abrasions. One broken rib and three cracked. Mild acidosis and alveolitis and angioedema on his arms, legs and neck. A very mild concussion."
"Sounds worse than it is," Bridger commented wryly.
Smith nodded with a small smile. "It is," she confirmed, then turned serious again. "Right now our major concern is the effects of nitrogen narcosis. I believe he was found before it could really set in. But I'm not one hundred percent on that. We'll just have to keep an on him."
Neither the Captain nor the doctor noticed that Piccolo, now dry except for his hair, was behind them listen to Smith's diagnosis.
"He's hurting right now," she went on, "but he will be fine. He's sustained serious enough trauma to put him on medical leave for about 6 weeks or so. Nothing permanent nor anything that should affect him later on. All he really need is to be patient and rest."
"So she was right," Tony muttered under his breath, amazed.
"Excuse me?"
Piccolo start a bit at Bridger's voice; he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.
"Sorry, Captain," he murmured apologetically. "I was just commentin' on how the lady was right about what was wrong with Commander Ford."
Bridger cast him a questioning look. "What lady?"
The seaman shrugged. "Uh, she was one of the two who was bringin' the Commander in. I don't know her name, but she told us what was wrong with him- exactly what Dr. Smith just said."
Bridger turned back to Smith, mystified. "She diagnosed him?"
"Yes," Smith confirmed, hesistantly. "Amazingly enough."
"Where is she now?"
"I don't know. I never spoke to her."
Bridger turned to Piccolo. "Tony?"
The seaman could only shrug. "I dunno, Captain. Maybe she's with Kris- he seemed to know her. I was thinking maybe she's his ex maybe. He didn't look really happy to see her."
"Really." Bridger said thoughtfully. That certainly was interesting... and quite a coincidence. "Find Kris, Tony. I'd like to talk to him."
"Sure thing, Captain."
He turned back to Smith with a contemplative look. "Is he awake?"
"He was for a while- he's sedated now." She glanced away from Bridger's gaze looking a bit woeful. "He was alert enough to ask for a Kris Westphalen." She smiled ruefully. "Something tells me it wasn't Kristopher Westphalen he was asking for."
"No, he wasn't asking for Kristopher," he said with absolute certainty. He wondered why that seemed to bother her so.
Lucas drifted in the background as usual, watching with curiosity and waiting impatiently for word on Commander Ford's condition. He was loitering in the hall outside of the room Ford was in when Smith came out to talk to the captain. Once he heard Wendy say Ford would be fine, Lucas, with a lighter heart, backed up down the hall and disappeared.
He was as curious as the next person who the mysterious woman was, where Kristopher had disappeared to, and why. In this instance, he had the feeling that all questions could be answered by Kris... if he could be found. And Lucas was an excellent finder.
The man, Anapa, sat on swivel chair in a small room off of the infirmary with a standard hospital blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was staring out of the window when they entered, watching the sky spit out its ire on the island.
He had not seen any of the people before, but he immediately recognized Nathan Bridger; not because he had seen pictures of the Captain- he hadn't- but because of vivid descriptions he had heard about the man.
Introductions confirmed that the man with silver hair was who Anapa thought he was. The others, Brody and Smith, meant nothing to him. But the last one- Tim O'Neill- that name he knew also.
O'Neill acting as translator, stepped forward with a pleasant smile. "O vai to oe i'oa?"
This simple question- what is your name- faced Anapa with a curious predicament. Nani would certainly not care for him divulging any information without her consent. So, without her there, how was he suppose to answer? Giving his name would not hurt, but then would it be better just feign ignorance of his native tongue?
O'Neill glanced at Bridger then back at Anapa. "Ua ite oe i te parau Marite?"
The Tahitian bit his bottom lip apprehensively as his gaze dart back and forth between all of their faces. He shook his head and shrugged.
He did speak English so when the others began to talk to the Captain about how they came to find their Commander and about the woman who was with them, he well understood them.
The young man with the glasses went about with great compassion to find a dialect that Anapa might understand. Still terribly conflicted with how exactly to handle his predicament, he finally waved his hands for the communications officer to stop.
"Anapa," he said in response to O'Neill's original question. "O Anapa to'u i'oa."
Once a common language was established, the questioning went on from there. Anapa told them as much as he thought Nani would approve. He had not found the man they told him was Commander Jonathan Ford, but one of his young cousins had discover Ford washed up on shore drifting in and out of consciousness. The boy told Nani about the sailor first. For his part, Anapa only helped to take the Commander to the research station at Nani's request.
Naturally, they, especially the Captain, wanted to know who Nani was and Anapa did not have an answer.
Tim looked up at the Captain and shrugged. "He says she is Nani. He won't elaborate."
Dr. Smith had a few questions of her own. "Ask him how Nani knew what was wrong with Jonathan."
Anapa steeled himself for the question he had dreaded. Tim spoke to him quietly, but Anapa could only look at him dumbly. The impasse had been reached and without Nani he could not go around it. So he shrugged distantly as though they were no longer speaking the same language.
O'Neill stood up, defeated, and faced Bridger who did not seem bothered. "Let's let the man rest," he said. "Please tell Mr. Anapa we appreciate all his help."
Gladly, Tim did so and gladly, Anapa watched them go.
In a small press deep below the base where the daily routines of the station occurred a peculiar rumbling of voices reverberated through the pipes. That strange rumbling was what made Lucas go down into the dark basement in the first place.
"Am I allowed a towel or are you going to let me freeze to death?"
"Cut the dramatics will you? It'll take more than a little wet and cold to be the death of you."
"What did you say?"
"You heard me."
Lucas inhaled sharply and paused on the stairwell, listening hard. He knew one of the voices- it was Kristopher's unmistakable voice barking snappishly. But the other voice, snarky and terse- the one he was waiting to hear again; it was so familiar and yet so foreign.
Within the press the two people were on the verge on a full out row. Kristopher tempestuously paced what little floor was available while the woman glared insidiously at him.
"How do you plan on explaining all this, Nani?" he threw the name bitterly at her feet. "Or don't you?"
Her face screwed up into a haughty expression on the verge of slinging back a nasty reply, then abruptly released the look when she could no longer face him. She looked away.
Kristopher stopped pacing and stared at her for a long while. Realization dawned on him. "You don't plan on explaining any of this, do you?" His jaw hung slack with disbelief for a moment, before fiery anger flared in his eyes. "And I suppose I'm suppose to be the one to go up there and explain this all away. To create a diversion while you sneak out the back door."
"I didn't exactly plan on any of this happening, Kristopher!" the woman snapped, unable to stand his pharisaical tone of voice. "And don't you talk to me like I'm a child. I didn't plan on seeing you let alone anyone else on this island! I haven't thought so far ahead- I don't know what I'm going to say or do. Now will you give me a towel or something to dry off with!"
Kristopher continued to glare at her inexorably. "Wait here," he warned her. "Don't you dare move or I swear I'll go up there and tell them everything."
She hissed at him as left. "You brute," she snarled under her breath. "You went and dried yourself off and let me here soaking wet!"
"Here," he said a moment later, tossing into the room a sweater and a pair of sweats that he knew were too big for her. He remained outside. "Hurry up and change."
She did so, but not without muttering all the nasty names she could think of at him. When he reentered the room she was perched atop a rickety chair with a broken back. Grand vexation was etched into her features. It increased when he locked the door behind him.
Kristopher crossed his arms over his chest with an expression that mirrored the woman's. "You've gotten into the nasty habit of vanishing without a word to anyone." His expression softened slightly as he walked over to her. Leaning against the broken chair she sat on, he put an arm around her shoulder. "You've got to figure something out, Nani, because I can't and I won't bail you out this time."
The woman sighed and nodded, the anger evaporated from her features. "Yes, I know, Kris. I know. And I am sorry. I really am."
Kristopher was about to respong when a knock came at the door. The two glanced at each in surprise- who could have possibly found them here? Neither moved.
"Dr. Kris?"
Lucas! Westphalen thought dispirited. Of course it would have to be him!
"Dr. Kris? I really need to talk to you."
With a sigh and shake of his head, the doctor moved to let the boy in. Just as he laid his hand on the knob, the woman was suddenly beside him with her hand clutching his.
"No, Kris," she whispered, sounding almost afraid. "Please don't open that door."
Kris looked back at her. "What do you want me to do? I can't keep him out forever."
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