Midnight Soliloquy

By R. L. Keller

(Presented for the Picture Challenge “By The Light Of The Moon)

Admiral Harriman Nelson buried a snort behind his nearly empty glass of scotch. As he collected himself and polished off the last of the strong alcohol, one of the nearly dozen roving waiters attempted to replace the glass with a full one. He contemplated waving the young man off but decided that he might need the added fortification to get him through the rest of the evening.

He was still trying to figure out how his old friend, and ComSubPac, Admiral Jiggs Stark, had suckered him into this gathering of upper echelon Navy brass. One of the draws for a lot of the attendees was, the four-day meeting of the minds was being held at one of Honolulu’s swankier hotels. But while Nelson was still forced to work within some Navy restrictions and regulations he was basically out of the mainstream service, spending most of his time involved with his own scientific research. On top of that, given recent missions that had involved both the Navy and its intelligence gathering office, ONI,* Nelson was more in the mood to tell Jiggs exactly where he could stuff the request to attend. In the end, it had been a quiet comment from NIMR’s CMO, Dr. Will Jamison, that had convinced Nelson to go. Will had heard him muttering to Angie, having walked over to NIMR’s Admin Building to drop off some reports, and gave a not-so-subtle nod toward Nelson’s office. Once inside, however, all he said was, “The very last thing Lee needs right now is you changing your schedule to appear that you’re hovering close by.” He didn’t give Nelson a chance at a rebuttal, merely gave a quick shrug and headed back to Med Bay. Nelson had fumed quietly for all of thirty seconds before realizing that Will was, as usual, totally right, and accepted the invitation.

Nelson had spent the better part of three weeks in his own personal hell. And that wasn’t even taking into account the weeks before that, filled with anxiety and angst. He had been shaken badly when his boat’s captain, Cdr. Lee Crane, told him that he was contemplating leaving NIMR forever. As bad as the previous weeks had been on Nelson, they had been even worse for Lee. Nelson knew that the younger man was having his own issues, but never realized how bad they were until that moment at the monastery. He had mentally kicked himself where it would do the most good a thousand times since that morning when he literally sent Lee away, dismissing his issues and telling him that they would all go away after getting some rest. Harry, you are such an ashcan! he’d admitted when it finally sank in what Lee had actually been trying to explain to him. He knew now what he’d been too big of an idiot to see then – that Lee needed someone to listen; to understand his pain and suffering, not basically blow him off.

Thankfully, Lee had found that person; had regained his ‘center’, and had returned to NIMR, and to Nelson. But Nelson still couldn’t seem to find the words that needed to be said. That Nelson needed to say. He’d tried to, started to, half a dozen times in the ten days Lee had been back. But each time either the words wouldn’t come, or they’d been interrupted before Nelson could made them come. Nelson had managed to excuse his inabilities with the thoughts that Lee hadn’t seemed like he’d wanted to discuss the situation either.

But you’re still a royal ashcan, Harry, he now growled into his scotch, downed the entire double shot, and excused himself from the table, unable to listen any longer to the endless streams of military babble being uttered by the speakers at the head table. Jiggs, sitting next to him, sent a glare as Nelson stood. He sent it right back, muttered, “headache,” to his friend, and left the conference room.

He had walked down to the meeting without his jacket and cover and didn’t bother with either now, choosing to exit the side of the hotel out into the muted darkness of a nearly full moon. He walked without real direction, needing fresh air instead of stale Navy platitudes, and shortly found himself in what was no doubt intended as a serenity garden, with large sculptured shrubbery and carved posts here and there. The thought briefly hit his brain that they were probably some form of native Hawaiian carvings, in the line of North American Native totem poles. Or, at least, the hotel’s version of such. His mind quickly dismissed them as he focused on his own issues.

That he needed to talk to Lee was obvious. Not so much about what had happened with the bad missions, but about how each had handled it. Well, how I handled it, Nelson admitted. Or rather, how I didn’t, he grunted, left hand in his pocket, right one making a fist, and he all but chewed on the thumbnail as he paced about the thankfully empty area.

I take for granted so much of who Lee is; of what he means to me personally, and what I want him to mean to NIMR’s future, Nelson admitted. I tell myself that he understands, without my need to be specific. He’s so perceptive. And yet… The hand in his pocket also clenched into a fist. It needs saying. He needs to hear me say it! He turned and gazed out at the tranquil ocean not that far away, so at odds with his tormented mind. He doesn’t read minds. Nelson snorted softly. Although most of his crew thinks that he does on occasion. I need to actually say how much I appreciate him, not merely nod and smile. Yes, he told himself, it will no doubt embarrass both of us, manly men that we are, and he snorted again.

Then had to quickly regain control as his privacy was invaded by a couple strolling through the area, seemingly as surprised to see him as he was them. All three shared a quick grin and Nelson wandered more to the edge of the garden, closer to the water. Slapping a breast pocket, he reluctantly remembered that he’d left his cigarettes in his room as the hotel had a ‘No Smoking’ policy. He mentally chastised himself for leaning on the nicotine hit instead of facing his own failings. Lee gives you a hundred and twenty percent of himself. Well, and a quick grin hit his face, Chip would disagree, but only during those times Lee takes off on ONI errands. Yet, that was also Lee, working to balance everything in his life that he felt committed to. Will often voiced the opinion that Lee worked too hard, too long, and needed to take more time for himself. Yet the comments mostly fell on deaf ears, not the least of which were Nelson’s. A workaholic himself, he’d always assumed that Lee could balance his own life issues. Now Nelson knew that he needed to reconsider that assumption; make sure that Lee wasn’t so focused on what he considered his commitment to his job that he forgot to take care of himself! That will no doubt go over like a lead balloon, Nelson told himself, and a sheepish grin this time hit his face. Especially coming from me. But Nelson knew that he needed to say it anyway. Nelson wanted Lee, needed Lee, for NIMR’s future. He knew that Lee had figured that out, what with more and more of NIMR’s business that Nelson involved Lee in. “Me,” Nelson growled softly. “Me, me, me. I want it, so that’s the way it will be.” He hung his head. But I’ve never asked Lee what he wants, he admitted silently, suddenly ashamed of his arrogance.

Unable to stand still, Nelson paced the edge of the garden. He’d have liked walking down to the beach but the pleasant night had led to the sand being far too full of people for the introspection he was forcing himself to deal with. Where does Lee’s wants and needs fit into my plans for his life, Nelson browbeat himself. Have I bothered to ask? Of course not, he growled. I just assume that I know what’s best, and to hell with what others want or need. He was instantly so disgusted with himself that he nearly fell into one of Lee’s reactions to anger, slamming his fist into one of the carved posts he found himself standing next to, and his derisive soliloquy turned decidedly sheepish. Hence the problem, Nelson, you old fool!

Once more his hand went to his shirt pocket; the only thing that accomplished was making him aware of the time as he glanced at his wristwatch. Nearly 2230 hours. No doubt Admiral so-and-so was still spouting unimportant – at least to Nelson – garbage in the conference room. Nelson had had his fill! With purpose in his stride he returned to his room and started packing. Thank heavens he’d flown here in FS1; no need to book a commercial flight. He’d leave a note for Jiggs at the front desk saying that he was needed at NIMR. His step was much lighter as he headed for the nearest taxi stand, to take him back to Pearl to collect what Lee frequently referred to as Seaview’s bright yellow offspring. This time, Lee, we talk. We talk, not just me. I promise!

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*see Sensory Overload, all three parts, by R. L. Keller