Chip sighed, dropped his pen onto the desk and slumped down into his chair. He was finally done with the report, way past when he should have been. He'd been distracted, unable to stop the what-ifs that invaded his thoughts.

He'd finally given up and given in to supposition. To settle it and be sure, to convince himself and set it aside and move on. But, after countless mental reenactments, calculations and recalculations of measurements of uncertain distances and times, the only thing he was finally sure of was that he could never be sure. Because, in some of the scenarios, it had been possible. Extremely remote, only a miniscule chance. Still, though, a chance that Lee could have escaped.

There was no way to be absolutely accurate in the recollection. He had reacted without thought. Split seconds and inches could have meant the difference between life and death of the entire crew. He'd kept trying to seize the one true memory, but it wasn't there. If it ever had been, it had since been lost in the replays. Thirty feet became twenty, one second became two.

Had seaview really lurched immediately or had there been the briefest lapse between the closed hatch and the crash of the sea? A lapse just long enough to allow Lee's escape.

Chip had finally forced the subject down, sealed it away just as he had sealed that hatch. It didn't matter, he told himself, it couldn't matter.

What was done was done. He had done his duty and, if he couldn't accept it and let it go, he might as well resign and sell insurance. He didn't honor Lee's memory by torturing himself with doubts or regrets. He honored Lee's memory by staying strong and moving on.

And, that is what he'd do, he insisted to himself as he placed the report into a folder. Then he sat there, decided and determined and lost as to his next move. He glanced towards the cabin bunk then away. He was exhausted but didn't think sleep would come easy. And, exhausted as he was, he was still wary of his first sleep, his first dreams. His resolve was strong but no man was master of his nightmares.

He was wary, too, of his first return to the control room, commanding in Lee's place, knowing Lee would never come again to relieve him.

Chip remembered a conversation with Crane a few months prior, during their last leave. He had unexpectedly stopped by Chip's home to let him know he'd have to miss their golf tee time scheduled for two days later. When Chip had asked why, Lee had said he'd be going away for a few days. When Chip had asked where and Lee didn't answer, Chip knew and forced himself silent, letting his expression speak for him. Crane had heard all of Morton's arguments against the ONI missions and still he went. Then, Lee had said something that caught Chip off guard.

"If anything happens to me, it'll be your turn to step up to the plate."

"Nothing's going to happen to you." The statement contradicted Chip's every preceding argument and fear, but the denial was automatic.

"I know, " Lee replied. "But, if it does, Seaview's yours."

"That's not your decision to make, Lee."

"He'll make it."

"You don't know that."

"I know."

Those had been Lee's parting words, timing his exit so that no further discussion was possible. Crane was absolutely certain that, should he be lost, Nelson would offer command of Seview to Morton.

That night, Chip had briefly pondered whether he really wanted command of Seaview. His ambition had always assumed his path would lead to his own command, every deployment a stepping stone leading that way. Until his present position.

He'd recognized serving aboard Seaview for the singular and exceptional opportunity and adventure that it was. His forward drive had cooled. After Lee had assumed command, it was set aside entirely for the time being. Chip was in the perfect career fit and was content to wear it as long as it lasted.

But, with Lee gone, Seaview wouldn't be the same. Nelson wouldn't be the same. And, Morton would have to deal with that altered Nelson on different terms with no buffer between them. Nelson's mere presence contradicted Chip's notion of true and absolute command of a vessel.

John Philips had led Seaview and her crew exceptionally well. But, he seemed always mindful that there was a superior officer aboard above him. Lee had claimed and owned command of Seaview in a way that Philips never had; a way that Chip was doubtful he could ever entirely match as long as Nelson remained aboard.

Morton had mulled it over that night without ever coming to a conclusion as to whether or not he really wanted to inherit Lee's place. He had stopped trying to decide because, for one thing, the decision hinged on Lee's death. For another thing, what he wanted really didn't matter.

He hadn't felt free to choose. Lee had voiced his intent to pass the torch to Chip and, had Crane failed to return from his mission, Morton would have felt obligated, duty bound to uphold Lee's last request. At least long enough to get things back on track, ease the transition for Nelson.

Chip wondered if the admiral was awake. He'd been thrown from sleep in the middle of the night but Morton doubted he'd tried to rest again. Chip didn't want to face the con or the sorrow of the crew. But, he felt drawn to be with Nelson; much as families were compelled to gather together to mourn. Chip and Nelson didn't share as strong a tie to one another as the deep bonds that bound Lee separately to them both. But, they were bound now by a new, shared grief.

Morton rapped softly on Nelson's door and got a 'Come' in response. Cigarette smoke wafted out into the corridor as he opened the door to enter. Nelson was at his desk, in the midst of a smokey haze, readouts and maps spread across the desktop. He waved a hand over the paperwork strewn before him.

"We have to find out what caused that missile to misfire! If one in the chain's bad, they could all be." He scowled and spat out a word in disgust.

"Fail-safe." He shook his head.

"I spoke to Dion. He swears the mechanism he designed is fail-safe; impossible they could malfunction and fire. Two men dead and still he insists it's impossible!"

Nelson seemed lost in fury for a second before looking up to Morton for the first time since he'd entered. He sighed.

"Sit down, Chip."

Chip took a seat, by habit the chair on the left. Looking to the empty chair to his right, he realized for the first time that that was how it always worked out-his seat, Lee's seat. Recalling further back, he realized that, before Lee came aboard, there had only been one chair placed in front of the admiral's desk.

"He's remotely disarmed the whole chain," Nelson said. "Reluctantly and under protest, the idiot. Supposedly disarmed them. Who knows how many flaws there are in his system. He and his team are due on site at 1900 hours."

The admiral began haphazardly refolding the data sheets then pushed them aside. Chip pulled out his prearranged excuse for coming to Nelson.

"I was wondering about the notification process for Davenport's family."

"When the hour's decent, I'll call Angie..." Nelson hesitated a beat before continuing. Imagining, Chip thought, her reaction to the news of Lee's death and the devastating ripple effect as the news spread. Chip imagined his first return to the Institute, walking past all the sad faces that knew Lee was dead and how he'd died. It would be a long walk.

"We'll send a chaplain and representative. I've made arrangements. He'll go out on the same transport that brings Dion. Ruiz, too. He was a close friend of Davenport's. Sharkey suggested he act as honor guard for his trip home; I've given him leave until after the funeral. Sharkey's arranging a memorial for 1600, I'm sure you'd like to speak."

"Will Dion's team be going to the silos, to the bottom?" Chip asked.

Harry nodded. "Eventually, after all possible remote tests and precautions are taken first."

"Maybe they could recov-"

"No!" Nelson cut Chip off mid-word. "There's no point bringing him back just to let him go again. He's at peace now, laid to rest at sea. There's no need to disturb him."

Or, disturb ourselves, Chip thought, suddenly assaulted by a reality temporarily blocked by his hope of seeing Lee one last time. A gruesome image of what would be left of Lee after days at the mercy of the sea and its hungry denizens. Nelson was right.

They sat there silent a few seconds. Then, the admiral opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He poured two drinks and pushed one toward Morton. Nelson raised his glass slightly in Chip's direction and opened his mouth as if to speak.

Morton took his glass in hand, ready to join the toast to Lee he was expecting. But, Nelson faltered, his eyes closed and his chin dropped to his chest. For a second, Chip feared the indomitable admiral was about to break down in front of him.

Then, suddenly, over the general intercom, Sharkey's voice blared.

"Sickbay, emergency in B-24! Repeat, emergency, sickbay to B-24!"

Both Morton and Nelson looked towards the speaker, drawn by the overly agitated voice. The chief tended to sputter when excited but this time he sounded more than beside himself.

"On the double!" Sharkey's voice demanded. "It's the skipper! I think he's alive!"

Chip turned his gaze from the speaker to the admiral, disbelieving, looking to Nelson for confirmation of what he'd just heard. A second after his eyes met Nelson's, Morton bolted from the chair and raced to B-24.

Chip banged his shoulder on the entry's side as he barreled over the sill. He stopped just inside the entrance way. Sharkey knelt by Lee, a cloth pressed against the skipper's head. Crane was sprawled on the deck, motionless and pale. Blood obscured one side of his face and pooled on the floor beneath his head. He didn't look good, he didn't even look alive.

But, only a moment earlier, Chip had held no hope of ever seeing him again. For a second, he stood and wondered if the the scene was real or a dream. Then he went to drop beside Lee. He took Lee's cold hand in one of his own and reached with his other hand to place two fingers against Lee's neck.

Chip felt a hand grasp his shoulder and knew without looking it was Nelson. He felt what he'd hoped for beneath his fingertips, evidence Lee's heart was still beating.

"He's alive."

The grip on his shoulder tightened then Will was beside him and Morton let go of Lee's hand and stood to move out of the doctor's way. Two corpsmen were moving Crane onto a stretcher as Jamison made a perfunctory examination before Lee was lifted and on his way to sickbay.

"Will...?

Nelson's question, desperate to know Lee's condition, caught Jamison as he reached the exit. The doctor didn't stop, only threw an answer over his shoulder as he stepped out.

"I don't know."

Forty-five minutes later, Chip stood with Nelson at Lee's bedside. They'd just been given the good news and allowed back to see him—Crane was badly banged up, one arm casted and bruises blooming over most of his visible skin, but he'd make a full recovery. He was out now, sedated. He'd come to during treatment, but only briefly. Jamison wasn't concerned, said the best thing for him after his ordeal was rest and he wouldn't wake again for hours.

Sharkey had been by sickbay earlier with news, carrying a spent re-breather he'd found just inside an access hatch in B-24.

Davenport had been in that compartment performing routine maintenance on a hydraulic line. Though the access hatch was closed when the compartment was searched, it was open when Sharkey had found Lee. The chief hypothesized that it must have also been open at the time of the rupture. Likely left open when Davenport stepped away from his work and leaving Lee an avenue of survival.

Captain Crane could owe his life to the aftereffects of Seaman Clark's demise. His death had prompted the admiral to install new safeguards. All ducts, vents and tubes that were accessed for maintenance had been fitted with what the crew called 'Clark kits'; re-breathers mounted near interior hatches,valves and turnoffs.

Looking down at Lee, Chip wondered. Now that Lee was back, alive and soon to be well, he allowed himself to speculate. The blood on Lee's face had come from a blunt force wound near his hairline above his left eye. The type of wound that could result from his head crashing into a closing steel hatch as he leapt towards it. But, that wasn't the only possibility. Crane had a broken arm and bruises all over and the head injury could have happened as he was violently tossed about in the lurch and the deluge. Only Lee knew and could answer the question that had haunted Chip since he'd turned that wheel.

That answer would have to wait until tomorrow. Lee would be out till then and, now that he no longer feared his next sleep's dreams, Chip craved rest. He was extremely grateful that his friend was alive but also exhausted and drained. Chip told Nelson goodnight and left for his cabin.

Eleven hours later, Morton hesitated in the corridor outside sickbay, unsure of what approach to take in his first post-incident conversation with Lee. Apologies weren't in order and Lee would reject any attempt, anyway. But, Chip couldn't just ignore the event as if it hadn't happened. Knowing Lee , he'd prefer it that way. But, for Chip, until it was at least acknowledged and gotten past, it would be an elephant in the room between them. He took a deep breath and headed to Lee.

He found Nelson in the bedside chair, beaming as if he'd just discovered something. Morton recalled the admiral's demeanor as he'd raised his glass then faltered. Chip thanked God that that nightmare had been interrupted. When Nelson saw Chip, he stood.

"I'll stop back by later," he said to Lee then lightly slapped Lee's shoulder. "Try not to antagonize Will this time." He smiled at Chip and left.

Morton sat in the chair. Crane grinned up at him and Chip smiled back. After nothing was said for a few seconds, Lee spoke.

"Fine, thanks for asking."

"Why should I bother asking?" Morton said. "The answer's always the same."

"Convention, tradition, concern-"

"Okay, okay," Chip cut him off with a more natural smile this time, familiar banter easing his nerves. "So, really, how are you feeling?"

"Fine. You?"

"Last night, not so good," Chip answered. "Now-I'm great."

There was another stretch of silence as Chip gathered his thoughts to continue the conversation.

"Lee-"

Crane interrupted before he got any further.

"Thanks for saving my boat."

Elephant acknowledged, Chip thought. In Lee's mind, subject successfully dealt with and out of the way. Both the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes carried a message loud and clear. Seaview was safe. Case closed, period.

Chip hesitated in his response. There remained the question; he could ask and have his answer. Or, he could follow Lee's lead and let it go.

He was suddenly and immensely grateful for the chance, one he'd thought he'd lost forever, to follow Lee's lead. Lee was alive; case closed, period. Chip smiled and responded.

"You're welcome."

A/N: When I wrote this, I wasn't happy with it. I wanted to make it better before I posted it. After finding it almost five years later, though, I decided it'll do.