I sat in the parking lot and stared at my car's headlights reflected in the convenience store windows. After dropping Jason off at my apartment, I had intended to drop by and grab something quick for dinner, but the urge to run in and buy something alcoholic was almost overpowering. I sat there, afraid to go in but too hungry to leave. Cronus' mocking voice echoed through my head.
"You know how to fly that thing? If you did, your team wouldn't be in this mess. You're not a leader. You're going to get someone killed."
Despite Tiny's best efforts, the Phoenix had come down hard, crushing one of the grapples holding Jason's car. Princess, fortunately, was fine. But ground rescue had to use the jaws of life to pry her out of the G-2. It looked like a tin can with the top rolled back.
Debrief seemed endless. "Why did you authorize prolonged use of the G-2 in such an unsafe manner? Why did you have so much trouble handling the G-1? What could you have done differently to prevent this accident?" And on and on. Just when I thought I was through the worst and could go down to Medical and check on my team, Chief Anderson had pulled me back toward his office. I closed my eyes and put my head on the steering wheel, remembering our conversation.
---
"There's something we need to discuss." The Chief's voice, firm and unrelenting, gave me pause. Surely he doesn't blame me for the accident? He was the one who told me the stabilizer was malfunctioning in the first place.
I followed him into his office and he shut the door and locked it. Not a good sign. After we sat down on opposite sides of his desk - me in an uncomfortable wooden guest chair, him in his plump office chair - he finally spoke.
"Mark, I've run additional analyses of your post-mission blood sample. It's only right that you should know." He steepled his hands and stared into his fingers as if they might help him divine an appropriate course of action.
"What?" I didn't have to act nonplussed. I had no idea what he was talking about.
The Chief pulled out a manilla envelope, opened it, and handed me several grainy black and white photographs, the kind you might obtain from surveillance equipment. "One of my field agents brought these to me."
I flipped through the stack slowly. "You've been spying on the J?" I couldn't keep the incredulous tone out of my voice.
"Take a closer look, Mark."
The last two photographs ... Oh, God. In the first, there I was in all of my alcohol-fueled glory, one drunk with his fists raised over another. And in the second, Jason had his hands firmly planted on my shoulders, hauling me out. Neither photo bore a close shot of my face. Can I bluff my way out? I tried to blank my expression, but my hands refused to stop shaking. I placed the photos on the Chief's desk and crossed my arms.
The Chief cleared his throat, but said nothing. Raising my eyes to look at him, I felt my bravado waver. Behind the anger, deeper than the disappointment, I could see genuine concern reflected in his eyes.
In a softer tone, he added, "These photographs were taken two nights before Jason brought you into my office, said you were a mess, and demanded I put you in therapy." I tried to look away but the Chief held my gaze. "I've gone back and reanalyzed the last six months of your blood work. As you know, given the filtering strength of your implant, any trace of alcohol in your system is considered irregular."
I hadn't realized that I had dropped my head into my hands until the Chief was standing over me. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
Mouth dry, I lifted my head, squared my jaw, and forced myself to speak. "I never drank on duty. After ... after that night, I quit."
The Chief sat down on the edge of his desk and regarded me. "Did you ever once consider mentioning this to either of your therapists?" There was more than a hint of anger behind the tone.
"I didn't want it on my service record," I mumbled, staring at the floor, wishing I could drop through the tile.
"That's why we have a civilian therapist," the Chief reminded me. "As I recall, you insisted on it."
Swallowing hard, I looked up at him and fought to keep my voice level. "I didn't want to disappoint you the way my mother did." My throat constricted as I said the words.
The Chief sat back in stunned silence. Finally, he clasped my shoulder, hard, and shook his head. "You've never disappointed me, Mark." Clearing his throat, he walked around his desk and sat back down.
"So, what happens now?" I asked. I sat on my hands so he couldn't see them tremble.
"Does the team know?"
I nodded.
The Chief sighed. "That helps explain Jason's abnormally solicitous behavior toward you as of late."
"Are you ... will you ... are you going to report this?" I crossed my legs in a futile attempt to stop fidgeting.
"I don't see any reason to."
"But the blood-alcohol tests -"
"- all came back clean," he finished. "Including the one you took today."
I felt myself relax for the first time since I had entered his office. Then a thought crossed my mind. "So you were bluffing all along! You had no proof I was drinking."
The Chief stared at the far wall. "I had my suspicions." He brought his gaze back to me. "I've fought my share of demons, too." He twisted his hands in a way that looked all too familiar.
"Alcohol?" I said softly, not wanting to derail his train of thought.
"Amphetamines," he admitted. "I was in graduate school at the time." He crossed his arms. "Cronus was the one who confronted me." He shook his head at the memory.
I don't believe this! I can't wait to tell Jason. My thoughts were quickly doused by the realization that I would never break the Chief's confidence.
"I will be monitoring you from time to time," he was saying, sternness creeping back into his voice. "And I expect you to address this with your civilian therapist." As I nodded, he added, "I appreciate you talking to me, Mark. I dislike having to spy on you."
"I appreciate your confidence in me, Chief," I said, standing up to shake his hand. "I won't let you down." Then, to change the subject, I added, "Any news on the team?"
The Chief glanced back at the computer on his desk. "Tiny's rib was patched up and he's resting in his Center Neptune dorm room. Keyop has been cleared but he's staying with Princess in the infirmary."
"Infirmary?"
"Smoke inhalation," he said. "It's just a precaution. I'd prefer to keep Jason there, too. Since his bout with pneumonia, he's susceptible to getting it again. But he's insisting that you take him home." The Chief gave me a hard look. "Given the circumstances, I'm inclined to concur. He needs uninterrupted sleep more than anything else, and he won't get it in the infirmary. And you ... " His voice trailed off. "Have you been alone since ... since you stopped drinking?"
I shook my head.
"Well, today isn't a good time to start your solitude." He removed his glasses and looked at me, his gaze slightly unfocused. "Take Jason home with you and get some rest."
"Yes, sir." I started for the door and then turned back. "Chief?" The man had his eyes closed and he was rubbing his forehead methodically the way I do when I'm getting a migraine. He blinked up at me. "You get some rest, too." He nodded in silence.
---
Sitting in the convenience store parking lot, watching the neon beer light blink in the window, I rapidly weighed my options. Jason was out. He had actually fallen asleep in the car on the way home and it had taken me forever to maneuver him into the apartment. I had let him collapse on my bed. I could take the couch for once.
Princess? I bit my lip. If I went to see her, I'd have to deal with Keyop, who would likely be wound up and want to talk. I just didn't have it in me to see him quite yet. And Tiny, with his broken rib, needed to rest. That left me with only one person to call.
"Chief? Remember what we talked about earlier? Well, Jason's asleep and I could really use the company. Can you meet me for dinner?"
For once, he set aside his work and said yes.
***
to be continued ...