Archive of Our Own

 MID JUNE, 1980

Leafing through a thick reference volume on cetacean behavior in search of a piece of information that had eluded her all morning, Doctor Lynn Murtagh reached for her desk phone as its insistent ringing broke her already sporadic concentration. "Murtagh."

 "Good morning, Doctor," came the deep, pleasant voice from the other end.

 Lynn's eyes shot open. She stared at the phone, noticing that the lit button below the numeric pad was that of her private line. Why was Chip Morton calling? And why hadn't he gone through her secretary Maureen? Could he be - ? "Good morning, Commander," she said, hoping her voice didn't give her away. "This is a surprise."

 "An unpleasant one, I'm afraid," he replied, and Lynn's hopes fell.

 Of course he's not gonna ask you for a date, you eejit, she scolded herself. He's too professional for that. And you don't want it, either. She hurriedly damped down the little voice that clamored, Oh yes, you most certainly do! and turned her attention back to the conversation. "On a scale of one to ten, just how unpleasant are we talking about?"

 On the other end, Chip Morton chuckled softly to himself. It was just like Lynn Murtagh to get right to the heart of the matter. Most women would have made a coy comment, but not this one. Her honest, no-nonsense attitude was one of the most appealing aspects of her personality. "Maybe an eight? There'll be an officer from the ONI office in San Diego here at the Institute this afternoon to debrief us on our recent, uh, problem."

 Lynn took the hint and made no comment about the recent research cruise that had nearly cost them both their lives even though they were speaking on a secure line. "Fine by me. What time?"

 "Thirteen hundred," came the reply.

 "At least we'll have time to eat before we're tossed to the lions," Lynn joked.

 "Um - yes." Chip decided to throw caution to the winds. "Are you busy?"

 "Now?" Lynn asked, surprised.

 "No – for lunch."

 "Oh! Well, I didn't have any plans…." Lynn let her voice trail off.

 "Then why don't we meet at the commissary? I can give you an idea of what's likely to happen at the debriefing," Chip added hurriedly.

 "Oh. Sure. Okay," Lynn said. "Twelve hundred?"

 "That sounds good. I'll see you later."

 "Sure," Lynn agreed, and hung up. This is a business lunch, she told herself firmly, so don't go gettin' your little self all het up over it. She looked at her clothing -- her usual working garb of jeans, tee shirt and sneakers, it was perfectly suitable for working in the lab or in her office, but not quite the thing for a lunch date.

 It's not a date, she reminded herself. This is strictly business, and that's all. Lynn looked at her watch. Ten forty-five. She had enough time to go for a swim with the dolphins and have a quick shower before she had to meet Chip at the commissary. She hoped it would relax her.

** *** **

 Chip had been waiting outside the commissary for five minutes when Lynn walked up, early, as he'd known she would be. She was dressed in what he privately thought of as her “uniform” – well-broken-in yet still presentable Nike sneakers, well-laundered denim jeans that fit snugly enough to show off her slender figure without being too tight; she also wore a slightly-too-large t-shirt – this one, which said "Dive Like A Girl" over a red-and-white "diver down" flag in the shape of a female diver, was highly appropriate, considering her profession. Her hair hung in damp ringlets, indicating she'd been in the water fairly recently, probably with the dolphins she loved so much. As usual, she looked confident and relaxed.

 Then he met her eyes, and knew the air of confident relaxation was a facade. She was nervous. Why? Because of the debriefing? He didn't think that was likely. No, there had to be another reason.

 The thought that he might be the reason struck him unexpectedly, and he grinned. It was nice to know that something could shake the woman Lee Crane called "the unflappable Doctor Murtagh", and nicer still to be the one to do the shaking. "Hello," he said, and indicated the small spiral notebook she carried. "I hope you aren't planning to take notes." He immediately regretted his words, and hoped she hadn't taken offense.

 "Hi. No, I've made some," Lynn replied. "I wrote down everything I could remember about Danson. Not that there was all that much."

 He showed her the folder he carried. "I wrote a report myself. Shall we?" he asked, gesturing for her to precede him into the commissary.

 Unwilling to wait for table service, they moved through the line at the steam tables. Chip filled his tray with a bowl of vegetable soup, a turkey sandwich on white toast, fries, a slice of apple pie, and a large coffee, noting that Lynn took only a large garden salad, a bowl of cream of turkey soup, a small buttered roll and a large glass of unsweetened iced tea.

They took their trays to a table in a corner, where they could speak without being overheard. "Not very hungry?" he asked as they sat down.

 Lynn shrugged. "I have to work with the dolphins later and it's more comfortable if I don't have a full stomach."

 "Good point," Chip agreed.

“And I don’t have the metabolism of a hummingbird – unlike some people I can name.”

Chip looked up from his soup to see her grinning at him. “Doctor, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, with a deadpan expression that changed to a wide grin.

 They made small talk while they ate, and over coffee, turned to the subject of the debriefing. "Have you ever been involved in anything like this before?" Lynn asked.

 "A couple of times," Chip admitted. Too many, he added silently.

 "And?" Lynn asked.

 “And what?" Chip asked blankly, his concentration momentarily broken by the memory of too many missions gone awry, or just plain wrong. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “What did you ask me?”

 "What's it like?" Lynn prodded.

 "Relatively painless," he said, smiling. "It all depends on the officer conducting the session. Some are better than others. Most are like root canals without benefit of local anesthesia."

 "Sounds like fun," Lynn said glumly. "I felt better about my orals for my doctorate. At least I knew what to expect with them."

 Chip smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "It shouldn't take too long. Try to relax." He stood.

 Lynn looked at her watch and rose with him. "Commander, I've found that when somebody tells you to relax, there's usually a very good reason why you shouldn't."

 Chip grinned at her. "You may have a point there," he said as they walked to the door.

 "Where are we going?" Lynn asked.

 "To the Security Building," he answered. "You have your Institute ID with you, don't you?"

 Lynn patted her hip pocket. "In my wallet."

 Chip looked; he could make out an outline of a slim case in the pocket of her faded jeans. "Very practical," he noted.

 "It saves me from having to carry a purse wherever I go," Lynn said in a hopefully offhand manner. She felt the color rise in her cheeks from the assessing glance she knew he'd given her rear end.

 They showed their IDs at the security station just inside the entrance of the two-story building that housed NIMR's security force. "Room 213," the guard said, after running their IDs through the scanner and consulting his computer monitor, then went back to his observation of the bank of surveillance monitors covering the wall.

 They took the stairs rather than the elevator. Room 213 was close to the stairwell's access door, and they found it easily. Chip checked his watch. "We're a little early.”

“If  you’re not early, you’re late.”

He smiled to hear one of his favorite sayings coming out of her mouth. “So you’ve told me.  Shall we go in?"

 "Do we have a choice?" Lynn asked wryly.

 "Not really," Chip said, smiling.

 Lynn sighed theatrically. "That's what I was afraid of. Let's go."

 Chip opened the door to the conference room. Located on the inside wall of the building, it was long and narrow and looked out on a spacious xeriscaped courtyard through floor-to-ceiling windows. The room held a long conference table surrounded by comfortable-looking armchairs with a blackboard positioned at one end and a whiteboard at the other. Lynn sat on one of the long sides of the table, facing the windows; Chip took the seat to her right.

 "I was wondering if you - . " he started to say, breaking off as an officer with dark hair and blue eyes entered the room. He was tall, dressed in a crisp set of summer whites; he wore shoulderboards with the three full stripes of a full commander, and his “Budweiser”, the SEAL trident, rode above the campaign ribbons above the left breast pocket, and a Naval Parachutist badge  was located below.  A NIMR visitor badge with a security access number over a bar code was clipped to the right-hand pocket.

Chip stood, surprised to see the man he’d succeeded as quarterback of the Annapolis football team when they were both midshipmen. The last he’d heard, Commander Paul Goddard was commanding a Seal team.

Lynn turned in her chair. "Paul!" she exclaimed in surprise and stood to hug him. "What are you doing here?" She dropped her arms, patting his Budweiser twice with the tips of three fingers as she stepped back a pace.

"Hello, Lynn," the new arrival said, bending to pull her back into another hug and kiss her forehead. "You’re early, as usual, I see. It's nice to surprise you for a change." Straightening, he shook Chip's hand. "Good to see you again, Chip. It’s been too long." He smiled crookedly, an expression very similar to Lynn’s crooked smile. "I heard you two got yourselves in a little trouble."

"That's putting it mildly," Lynn said dryly before Chip could answer. "Through no fault of our own, of course," she added.

"Of course," Paul agreed. "This was a biggie – but you never do anything by halves, do you?"

“Yeah, well, you know.” Lynn shrugged. "I try not to."

 Chip shot her a quick glance. She was acting normally, relaxed, bantering easily, apparently over the initial surprise of seeing Paul. But Paul was looking at her with a speculative, familiar quality in his expression. A possessive, almost protective look, Chip realized. Just how well did they know each other?

 He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. He was definitely  jealous, even though he had no right to be. He had no claim on her, no reason to want to know more. What did he care if Lynn Murtagh and Paul Goddard were acquaintances, friends, or lovers of long standing?

 He cared. He cared a lot.

 And that bothered him.

 Longtime lovers wouldn't greet each other that casually, he rationalized. And he knew that Lynn was the warm, demonstrative type who would have given a past lover more than a casual hug as a greeting, even if she was surprised to see him. And that odd little pat she’d given his Seal trident was strange, though he was sure there was a meaning behind it. But he knew Paul to be reserved, concerned with protocol and military courtesy. He'd probably have greeted Lynn more demonstratively if they'd been alone, and she would have probably responded in kind. His mind spinning with questions, Chip reluctantly directed his attention to the man across from him.

 Commander Paul Goddard sat across from them and opened his briefcase, positioning it to his left, where it wouldn’t block his view of Chip and Lynn. Taking out a small cassette recorder and several tapes, as well as a notepad and pen, he placed them on the table between them. "I'll be taping this session," he said unnecessarily.

"That's better than inflicting your illegible chicken scratches on some poor yeoman," Lynn said with a little smile.

 "Same old Lynn. It's nice to see that some things don't change," Paul said, gently sarcastic.

 "Oh, I wouldn't want to disappoint you, darlin'," she said sweetly.

 "I can't remember that you've ever done that,” Paul said genially.

“You’re with ONI now?” Chip asked.

Paul nodded. “The knee. It’s got me on the beach at least temporarily, and more likely permanently. But that’s neither here nor there, so let's get started – we have a lot to go over," he said, turning the recorder on. His tone immediately became more formal. "It is now," he looked at the clock on the far wall, "thirteen-ten hours on Wednesday, June eighteenth, 1980. This tape will record the initial debriefing of Lieutenant Commander Chip Morton, USNR, and Doctor Lynn Murtagh of the Nelson Institute. Doctor Murtagh, can you give me your recollection of the incident with the agent known as Doctor Terrence Danson?"

 Lynn took a deep breath and opened her notebook, then looked past Paul, out the windows to his left, and began to speak. She spoke mostly from memory, rarely consulting her notes for details. When she came to the evening on board Seaview when Chip had pretended to be involved with her in order to help her ward off Danson’s advances, Paul quirked his left eyebrow in surprise, then locked his blue eyes on Chip in a silent question. Chip just shrugged innocently and looked up at the ceiling – then he looked right back at Lynn.

Chip watched Lynn as she gave Paul her version of the attack. She spoke in a low voice and appeared calm and controlled, but he saw the shadow that crossed her face, heard the slight tremor that escaped as she described the cold-blooded way Danson had cut her air hose, apparently reliving the nightmare of that dive. She could have died then, and would have if it hadn't been for her dolphins attacking Danson, keeping him at bay until Chip could get to her and buddy up with her on his air tank.

 When she was finished, Paul nodded. "May I have those notes, please?" Lynn nearly tore the pages out of the notebook along the laser perforations and slid them across to him. "Chip?" he asked.

 Chip regarded the other officer for a brief moment. Paul seemed outwardly calm, yet something in his manner told Chip the other man had been extremely shaken by Lynn's recitation. Making eye contact with Paul, vaguely registering something in Paul’s expression that reminded him of  Lynn, Chip nodded and passed his own report across to Paul, then began his own version of the story. It was briefer than Lynn's retelling, more analytical – especially when he gave the details of movie night in the wardroom.

 When Chip was through, Paul frowned at them. "But why you two? Why would he single you out for an attack? No offense to either one of you, but you're both relatively unimportant. Why you and not Nelson?"

 Lynn and Chip looked at each other. Then a look of dawning comprehension crossed Chip's face. "Because we saw him where he wasn't supposed to be! Remember?" he asked Lynn.

 Lynn thought for a moment, then said, "At Swenson's?" she asked. "The afternoon I ran into you in the drugstore!"

 "What drugstore?" Paul asked quickly.

"One in a little strip mall outside town," Lynn told him. "Commander Morton and I ran into each other there and we went for coffee. We saw Danson in the restaurant when he was supposed to be in Monterey!"

 "Whoa, Lynn, slow down," Paul said, holding up a hand in caution. "No human can listen as fast as you can talk. Start from the beginning."

 "We ran into each other in a drugstore at Cielo Mall the day before we were supposed to leave on the cruise," Lynn said. "We decided to go to Swenson's for a cup of coffee – that's a small ice cream place that has a lunch and dinner menu. It's got that old-timey feel – tin ceilings, marble tabletops --  you know, like Duffer's back home, down in Wildwood? – and we ran into Danson. Or at least, I did. I was on my way to the restroom, and he was leaving, and I walked right into him as I got up from our booth."

"And you two think this is why he attacked you?" Paul asked, obviously skeptical.

"It has to be," Chip said. "When he cut Doctor Murtagh's air hose, he said something about people who see more than they're supposed to see. At the time, I didn't connect it with the other man we saw in the restaurant, but now...."

"The other man?" Paul asked quickly.

"He was with another man at Swenson's," Lynn put in. “It didn’t really register until now.”

 "Would you recognize him?" Paul asked.

Lynn shook her head. "I didn't get a very good look at him. He got the hell out of Dodge while I was apologizing to Danson," she said. “The best I can say is he looked like Ed Asner from behind – balding, stocky, shorter than average height.”

Paul gave her a long, assessing look, then asked, “Chip, did you see him?” as he briefly noted Lynn’s description in his notes.

Chip shook his head. “His back was to us as he edged past us. Thinking back, I’m sure it was intentional. But at the time, it didn’t seem to matter.”

 "But you're sure it was Danson you saw?" Paul persisted.

 Lynn nodded emphatically. "I'm positive. He even made a joke about it when he came on board Seaview in Monterey," she told him.

"So you saw him meeting with someone you can't identify, and you think he tried to kill you because of that?" Paul asked, quickly taking notes.

 "If it was his contact, it makes sense," Chip said.

"Yes, it does. Especially since a suspected Russian agent was found dead in Monterey on Monday," Paul said. "It looks like he was mugged and the body dumped in an alley."

"You think he was Danson's contact? That he might be the man we glimpsed in the restaurant?" Lynn asked, looking quickly at Chip.

"It's possible, but we'll never really know, especially since you can’t positively identify the man you saw," Paul said, gathering Lynn's notes and Chip's report together with his own supplemental paperwork. "Well, that's it. You've both been very helpful, and we'll add this to whatever else we know about this operation. I'm sure I don't have to caution either of you not to mention any of this to anyone."

 "That goes without saying," Chip said dryly, and looked at Lynn. She merely raised her eyes heavenward with an unladylike snort, and then pointedly looked away, out the window.

 Paul sighed. "Yes, well...Lynn?"

 "Hmmm?"

"How about dinner tonight?" Paul asked. "We can fill each other in on what's been happening since we saw each other last."

"Oh, Paulie...." Lynn said then shook her head. "It's tempting, but I don't think so. Not tonight. I already have plans."

"Oh," Paul replied, obviously disappointed. Then he brightened. "Then how about a quick cup of coffee? You're still addicted, aren't you?"

Lynn looked up at Chip. "Of course I am. Some things never change," she said, expecting him to smile. She was taken aback by his frown and looked at him quizzically.

"Well?" Paul asked, recapturing her attention.

 "Sure," Lynn said, then quickly looked back at Chip, who was preparing to leave. She impulsively reached out and placed her hand on his arm. Something flickered in his eyes, then, just as quickly, was gone. "Come with us," she said in a low voice.

 "I don't want to intrude," he said flatly.

 "You wouldn't be," she said firmly. "Please?" she asked in a softer tone.

 He smiled then. "All right. If you insist."

 "And I do."

 They walked to the commissary, Lynn the middle of the three, dividing her attention equally between the two men.

"So, how long have you been in San Diego?" Lynn asked, sitting next to Chip and across from Paul. “I knew you were transferring out of the Seals, but nothing beyond that.”

"Nearly a month. I'm surprised you hadn't heard by now," Paul said, wagging an eyebrow.

"Some things do escape me," Lynn said dryly. “And I’ve been kinda busy trying to not get killed by a Russian asset.”

"They never used to," Paul said in just as dry a tone.

 "That's what happens with advancing age – and a demanding job." She grinned. "Do you like what you're doing? It's so different from when you were with the Seals...." Lynn winced and let her voice trail off, aware she had touched a sore spot. “Sorry.”

 Paul smiled reassuringly. "You're right there. But things change. I'm an information analyst now. I do very little field work, and what I do is mostly investigative, like today's debriefing. Brain, instead of brawn for a change."

 "Good way to put your mechanical engineering degree to use,” Lynn said dryly. “But that should make your mother happy. It sounds like a nice safe job," Lynn said.

 "So did yours," Paul teased.

 Recognizing Paul's attempt to change the subject, Lynn went along with it. "It usually is," she said dryly. “But my mother isn’t going to hear about this. We’ll allow her to retain her illusions that her only daughter’s is as safe as she thinks it is.”

"If you discount the occasional great white shark and other disturbances that make it more... interesting ... than usual," Chip said in a bid to capture Lynn's attention.

 "Or Lieutenant Bishop," Lynn put in.

 "Oh, let's not forget Bishop," Chip said.

 "Why not? I'd like to," Lynn countered.

 "He'd like to forget you," Chip told her, happily monopolizing Lynn's attention.

 "Bishop?" Paul asked, obviously intrigued by their banter.

 "Somebody who takes his place in the universe just a wee bit too seriously," Lynn said.

 "And you showed him the error of his ways?" Paul asked.

 "Something like that," Chip said.

 "I tried," Lynn said with a shrug.

 "I hope you were nice about it," Paul said.

 "Have you ever known me to be anything else?" Lynn demanded.

 "In a word, yes," Paul said firmly. “So very many times.”

 "Yeah, well...." Lynn shrugged. “It happens when it needs to happen.”

 Paul chuckled. "Lynn, do me a favor. Don't ever change. You're one of the few constants in a life with way too many surprises."

 Chip pressed his lips together. They were at it again, and despite himself, he felt left out. He knew it wasn't intentional, yet it still hurt. He tried to school his features into a pleasantly bland expression but he was sure he wasn't fooling Paul.

 Paul kept his attention on Lynn, but watched Chip out of the corner of his eye. It was amazing – Chip seemed to be jealous of the attention Lynn was paying to him! Paul couldn't believe it. He'd known Chip both professionally and socially since Chip became Paul’s backup at quarterback on the Navy football team when Paul was a youngster and Chip was a plebe at Annapolis, and he'd never known him to be jealous of anyone. In fact, he’d never known anyone who was as even-keeled as Chip and as steady and calm under pressure.

But what was stranger still as the fact that eagle-eyed Lynn, who he'd never known to miss a trick in all the years they’d known each other, didn't seem to notice. Here she was, ignoring all the signals Chip was giving off. Granted, as bright as she was, she tended to miss that particular type of signal, but these were too blatant for even Lynn to miss. But was she really ignoring them? Paul caught a quick flicker of her eyes towards Chip, and then she changed her position, angling her body slightly towards him. That's better, he thought.

There was a deep affection between those two, Paul realized, and respect also. That had been more than obvious during the debriefing. But there was something more – an obvious mutual attraction that both were trying to hide, or possibly suppress; he wasn't quite sure. For what it was worth, Paul decided, they were doing a lousy job of it. Even a stranger would notice it, but to someone who knew both Chip and Lynn as well as he did, it might as well have been a flashing neon sign.

"Excuse me," he said, deciding they needed some time alone. "I want to wash my hands."

Chip watched him walk toward the restrooms, then turned to Lynn, who was absently toying with her silverware. "Where are you going tonight?" he asked in what he hoped was an offhand manner.

"Entschuldigen Sie bitte?" Lynn asked, startled by the unexpected question. Realizing she’d answered in German, as she so often did when she was startled, she shook her head as if to clear it and said, “I’m sorry. Excuse me?”

 “I understood you the first time,” Chip said with a half-smile. "Your date," he prompted, feeling uneasy. He hated feeling jealous of whoever it was she was going out with, but he couldn't help it, and that surprised him. He hadn't thought of himself as a jealous person, and the sudden flare-ups at the debriefing and again in the commissary had taken him by surprise. Then again, he mused, since he'd met Lynn, a lot of things had taken him by surprise, and they hadn't all been sharks and spies. "Where are you going?" he asked, hoping he sounded casual.

"No, I didn't say I had a date," Lynn replied quickly.

 "Yes you did," Chip asserted.

 Lynn shook her head. "No, I didn't. I said I had plans. There's a difference."

 "Oh? What do these plans of yours involve?" He kept on, knowing he shouldn't but he was simply unable to stop himself from asking her.

 "The band has a rehearsal," Lynn said simply.

 "Oh," he said. She didn't have a date! He suddenly felt much better. "All evening?"

 Lynn cocked her head to look at him. “Why?”

“I was thinking that perhaps you'd - ." Hearing his name over the PA system, Chip looked up in annoyance. "I have to get to the phone. Excuse me."

 "Sure," Lynn said. What choice did she have? Of all the times for him to be paged! What was he going to say before he was interrupted? Lynn had a feeling she'd never find out.

 Chip was still gone when Paul returned. "I heard Chip being paged. Problems?"

 "Around here, who can tell?" Lynn shot back, annoyed at the interruption.

Surprised at her response, Paul asked, “Are you okay?”

“I guess I have to be.”

 Paul looked at her quizzically, then decided to adhere to protocol and not ask for an explanation. He'd heard stories about the strange goings-on at the Nelson Institute. He looked around the large dining room. "Busy place."

 Lynn nodded. "It's open around the clock. A lot of us keep irregular hours. It's easier than goin' out, and the food's good, too."

"The Institute seems to be a good place to work, judging from the Naval personnel who've resigned their commissions to come here,” Paul said. “Are you happy?"

 Lynn nodded, her eyes lighting up. "Very much. No more paper pushing, no more jealous co-workers. I'm finally getting to use my training."

"I'm sorry Mystic turned out the way it did for you. At least when we were on the same coast, we got to see each other fairly often."

"Now that you're in San Diego, maybe we'll get to see each other a lot now."

"I hope so," Paul said warmly. "I've missed you."

"Me too," Lynn said, with a gentle smile. "You're good to have around."

 They looked up as Chip returned to the table. Not bothering to sit, he drained his coffee mug. "Sorry, duty calls."

 "Problems?" Lynn asked, sounding disappointed.

 "A snag's come up in the reprovisioning," Chip explained. "I have to get down to the dock."

 "Can't run the old girl without you, huh?" Lynn teased.

 "Sometimes it seems that way," he acknowledged. "An XO's job is never done." He held his hand out to Paul. "Nice seeing you again, Paul."

 Paul rose and took his hand. "Same here. We'll have to get together the next time I'm in town. We need to catch up - it's been too long."

 "I'd like that." Chip turned to Lynn. "Doctor," he said, sounding stiff and hating himself for it.

 "See ya 'round,” Lynn said. “Stay away from the dock hoist, okay?" She extended her hand.

 He took her hand, squeezed it, and smiled at her. "I learned that lesson the hard way," he said, and left.

Paul looked at Lynn, who'd suddenly found something of great interest in the bottom of her coffee mug. "Nice guy," Paul ventured.

 "Uh-huh," Lynn answered, not looking at him.

 "What's going on with you two?" Paul asked casually.

 "Us? Nothing," Lynn said quickly.

 Too quickly, Paul thought. "Sure. Now tell me the truth," he ordered.

 "That was the truth," Lynn insisted, still refusing to meet his eyes. “Just like I said – absolutely nothing.”

 "Only partially," Paul conceded. "Maybe nothing is going on now, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't like it to."

 "Paul, you know I don't get involved with the people I work with," Lynn said firmly.

 Paul nodded acknowledgement. "Yes, I do. But I have eyes, Lynn. I could see how you two were looking at each other. I’ve never seen that look on his face before."

“You’ve seen a lot of looks on his face, have you?” Lynn asked.

“I’ve known him nearly twenty years.”

When Lynn remained silent, he went on.  “I liked the way you touched his arm when you wanted him to come with us for coffee."

“Like you’ve never seen me do that before?” Lynn challenged.

"Only with people you really care for – and trust. It’s your tell, and it always has been. You really like him, don't you?"

 "Hey, what's not to like?" Lynn asked brightly.

 "Yeah, what's not to like," Paul repeated. "Why don't you tell Uncle Paul what's going on?"

 Lynn grimaced at him. "You're not my uncle, Paulie. You're my cousin – my other big brother."

 "Oh?" Paul asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you remembered."

 "What's that supposed to mean?" Lynn asked irritably.

 "I thought you might have forgotten. After all, you didn't mention it to your – our – friend."

 "Our friend?"

 "We go way back," Paul said smugly. "He was a year behind me in the Academy."

 "Oh. Yeah, I guess he would've been," Lynn said thoughtfully.

 Paul raised one eyebrow at her second comment, but let it pass. "Yeah. Oh." He smiled at her. "He was my backup at quarterback for two years, then took over when I was hurt and had to quit football. He was first string his last two years. He had it all – brains, athletic ability – and he was just a plain all-around nice guy."

 "Yeah. A nice guy. Real nice," Lynn said, tapping her unused fork against the palm of her hand.

 "You're repeating yourself," Paul said smugly.

“Yeah, that happens. Why didn’t he ever come home to the farm with you? You brought most of the team at one time or another, but you never brought him – and I know I’d have remembered him.”

“He said that if he wanted to see a horse farm in Jersey, he’d go home.”

"Oh.”

"Now, why don't you tell me what I really want to know without all this dancing around?"

 "All right," Lynn said, meeting his eyes. "I like him. I like him a lot. Too much, because there's no future in it. Satisfied?"

 "Why isn't there a future in it?" Paul asked gently. "He's not married – or at least, I don't think he is."

 Lynn gave him an exasperated look. "No, he's not. And he probably never will be. Not that I'm looking for that, either," she added hastily. "But if you know him that well, then you know his reputation! My God, Paul, the man's a legend! He's supposed to be a regular Don Juan! I'm not like that – I'm not the kind of woman he's used to."

 "No, Lynn. You're not," Paul agreed. "But maybe you're what he needs."

 "Oh, Paulie, give me a break," Lynn said disgustedly. “I can’t believe you’re giving me advice on my social life.”

 "Why don't you give yourself a break instead?" Paul suggested.

 "You wanna run that by me again?" Lynn asked suspiciously.

 "Why don't you give the guy a chance?"

 Lynn favored him with a look of incredulity. "To do what? This advice is all well and good, Paul, but he's never asked me out," Lynn said flatly. "Not once."

 "What about your little tete-a-tete in Swenson's?" Paul prodded. :"That wasn't a date?"

 "That was not a date," Lynn told him. "That was an accidental meeting that ended up in us almost getting killed. I doubt it'll ever be repeated," she said sullenly.

“You getting killed?” Paul asked. "I should hope so."

“Funny man,” Lynn muttered.

 "Maybe he has the same attitude that you do about dating the people he works with," Paul suggested.

 "Then why are you wasting your breath talking to me?" Lynn demanded, her voice rising.

 "Because you're here and he's not. Then again, I might have better luck if I talk to him," Paul suggested with a smile. "How do I get to Seaview's dock?"

 Lynn threw her napkin at him. "Try it and I'll flay you alive with this butter knife," she threatened.  “You’re a really nice guy when you’re not trying to bulldoze me.”

Paul shrugged. “At least I know when to stop – unlike Jack.”

“And he’ll never learn,”  Lynn pointed out.

“No, that ship sailed long ago.”

"Besides, what good is any of this if he's not interested?"

"Lynn, that is not a man who's not interested in you," Paul said, plainly exasperated. "Didn't you see how jealous he was of me?"

 "Jealous?" Lynn asked stupidly. "Him? Of you?"

 "Is there an echo in here?" Paul asked, pointedly looking around him. "Yes. He's jealous. And I find it very difficult to believe that you, of all people, didn't notice."

 "Well, maybe I saw something," Lynn conceded, albeit with ill grace.

 "Yeah, little Lynn, I think maybe you did. And I think it suited your purposes, too. Why didn't you introduce me as your cousin?"

 "It never came up. Besides, I didn't hear you mention it, either," Lynn said defensively.

 "Hey, Kiddo, I was taking my cues from you," Paul said, eying her speculatively. "And you don't really have any plans for tonight, do you?"

 "Yes," Lynn said defensively. "I do."

 "Like what?" Paul challenged.

 “Borderline has a rehearsal.”

“And you couldn’t say that straight out?” Paul  asked.

Lynn gave him a dirty look, and Paul shook his head in amusement. “That poor guy - I can’t wait for him to meet the real you.”

“He already knows the real me,” Lynn asserted.

“Really. Has he heard you cursing in German yet?” Paul challenged.

“More than once.”

“And?”

“He understood most of it and thought it was funny.”

“Your penchant for calling people and animals an Arschloch didn’t bother him?”

“It didn’t look like it – and it showed me how good his hearing is,” Lynn said dryly, “because I muttered it under my breath.”

“Yeah, he could always hear grass grow – just like you.” Paul shook his head. “When you finally come out from behind that wall you’ve thrown up around yourself and he sees the real you – he won’t know what hit him.”

Lynn shook her head. “I don’t know about that – he’s already met Alfie.”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “And how did that go?”

“Well, he wasn’t the target – he just got to hear me complain about Lieutenant Bishop.”

“The one you mentioned before?”

Lynn nodded. “I went off on him for verbally abusing two crewmen who’d been assigned to help me.” She gave him a nasty grin. “I channeled my mother and went up one side of him and down the other – and it felt good.”

“Yeah – like I said, he won’t know what hit him when you finally let her out. But right now? You’re hiding her somewhere safe so she won’t be hurt.”

“I love the way you talk about me in the third person,” Lynn complained.

“As you so frequently remind me, the air is the air – what can be done?”

“It sounded better coming from T’Pau than from you.” Lynn blew out a breath. “And not everyone is as lucky as your parents or my mom and dad.”

“Speaking of whom – the divorce has been final for two years now. When are they getting married?”

“They’re just happy that your uncle is out of the way and they can be seen together in public.”

“You can call him ‘Sean’, you know,” Paul pointed out.

Lynn shook her head. “It feels too weird.  I won’t call him Daddy, Dad is what I call Hans, and what I really want to call him can’t be said in polite company.”

“In English or in German?”

“In either language.” She cocked her head and looked at Paul. “How your mother, Uncle Franny, and he could all come out of the same womb… Poor Grandma - maybe he was a changeling?”

“Or a cuckoo?” Paul suggested archly.

Lynn shook her head. “Given our Irish heritage, a changeling is more likely.”

Paul inclined his head in concession. “Good point.”

“Hey, when you’re right, you’re right,” Lynn said, throwing him a grin.

 "Hey, how about inviting me home for dinner before you go play your fingers off for four hours?"

 "I don't think so," Lynn said flatly.

 "I guess you wouldn't want me to be seen leaving your house, eh?" Paul teased.

 "Paul...." Lynn warned.

 Paul held up a conciliatory hand. "Okay, I can take a hint. I'll drop by San Sarita instead - maybe I'll get a warmer welcome from the rest of my Murtagh cousins. At least Ikey will feed me.”

“I’ll call her and warn her you’ll be at dinner. And after dinner you can listen to Jack and me scream at each other for four hours.”

Paul gave her a sympathetic look. “Is that how rehearsals still go?”

“Of course they do – Jack will never change, either, and I just keep on pounding my head against the human brick wall that’s my big brother.”

“As long as you don’t change – he needs someone to remind him that he hasn’t been anointed king.”

 "Fat chance – oh, don't forget to get a present for Shannon," Lynn reminded him.

 Paul shook his head. "Six kids under fourteen. It boggles the mind."

 "Yeah – they've been too busy little bees," Lynn said cheerfully. “Whaddaya hear from Jimmy lately?"

 "Very little," Paul said dryly. "Our Tomcat hotshot hasn't had much time for his older brother in Naval Intelligence." He shook his head. "I think Donnie saw him in Bremerton in May, though, when both Nimitz and Independence were in port at the same time."

 "Mister laid-back chopper pilot?" Lynn snorted. "We haven't heard much from Donnie lately, either. The closest we’ve come is seeing him in The Final Countdown, flying the chopper. But he'll turn up -- he always does. At least Joey writes regularly, and he even calls once in a while. He got your mother's manners. Tell your baby brother the bum he's got a couple of civilian cousins on the West Coast who'd like to hear from him once in a while, okay?"

 "Okay," Paul agreed, looking at this watch. "I'd better roll, if I'm going to shop for a baby present before dinner. What do you suggest for Shannon? I'm not very good at picking out gifts for babies."

 "Paul, she's only a month and a half old. She won't notice," Lynn assured him.

 "You're a big help," Paul complained.

 "I try to please. Find something with the Yankee logo on it,” Lynn suggested.

“In Dodger country?”

“Simonetti’s Sporting Goods, near the pier. He’s from Jersey City and he carries a lot of gear for expatriate Yankee fans.”

“You still have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Paul asked.

“I can’t be fallin’ down on the job, now, can I?”

 They walked together as far as the Marine Mammal Building. "I’ll see you tonight,” Paul said.

 Lynn smiled. "You know where to find me." She reached up to hug him. "Don't be a stranger, Cuz, okay?"

 "Okay. And think about what I said, all right?" Paul suggested.

 Lynn pursed her lips. "Sure. I’ll see ya later. But bring some earplugs – it’s been gettin’ real loud lately."

“I’m used to your music, you know,” Paul said.

“Not the music – me and Jack. We haven’t exactly been in agreement about a lot of the arrangements for some of the songs."

 "I’ll take it under advisement," Paul said with a grin. “If Alfie makes an appearance, it will be worth it.” And then he left.

 Lynn stood outside the building for a while and watched Paul walk off towards the Visitor parking area. Think about it? What a laugh. That was all she could seem to do any more. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to be able to come up with any answers. She ran up the steps, heading for the safety of her office.