“I’m worried, Nathan,” Kristin set down a detailed report from Dr. Smith she was glancing over in Lucas’ dorm room.

          “About what?”

          “This. All of this--with the kids. I don’t know what to do or how to react.”

          Nathan worried his jaw and listened.

          “What kind of repercussions will there be after separating them for this long? Will they be serious? How will they deal with them? I just don’t.....” Kristin sighed, too concerned, and massaged the bridge of her nose.

          Nathan leaned over and placed his hands on her shoulders. “They’re tough kids. I worry about them, too, but all we can do is be there for them.”

          “But what if something goes wrong? What if somehow...they’re changed, or the procedure doesn’t work?” she closed her eyes hoping Nathan wouldn’t see the immense worry she felt. “I can’t help not worry, Nathan. They’re a part of the SeaQuest family, and I’d never let anything happen to my family...”

          “They’ll be alright,” Nathan reassured her, understanding how she felt about the crew being family. He looked into her green eyes, seeing the pain and knowing it himself, then gently took her hand. “Just have faith.”

          “Faith,” she swiped amusingly at her red hair. “That was never in the scientific rulebook.”

          “Well, we’re not exactly following the rules here, are we?”

          Kristin’s hand gripped his for a moment before she let go and picked up the papers. “No, I suppose we’re not.”

          Nathan patted her hand and went back to studying his stack of reports.

          It had been nearly 6 hours since they’d come back from dinner and Samantha had taken a walk with one of the psychic’s involved in this case. Ever since, they had been waiting here for Lucas’ return. It still didn’t help speed up the clock, or the lazy passing hours.

          There was a click in the door that caused both looked up quickly when Lucas himself burst through it laughing and swaying from side to side. Immediately, the low banter between he and Dr. Westphalen ceased.

          Samantha looked up through his hazy blue eyes at the shifting world around her and smiled, attempting to pretend she could walk while the room was spinning. “Home, I’m honey!...er wait...yea.” She spotted her house guests. “Hey, whadder you guys doin’ here?”

          “Where have you been?” Westphalen demanded, then saw the way Lucas was walking. “You’re drunk.”

          Samantha laughed, thinking to hear her own voice but caught Lucas’ low tenor instead. “Me? Drunk? Nah,” lazily, she waved it away. “I’m not as think as you drunk I am,...er...wait...yea. I’m just tired.”

          Though the situation might have been funny at another place in another time with another person, Bridger didn’t find much of that humor now, although he guessed later on it would be a joke around the poker table. “Lucas, do you want to be stuck like this forever?”

          “No,” Samantha regarded him as seriously as Lucas’ swaggering body would allow. She braced herself on the counter when the spinning room switched directions. “I’m not Lucas. I‘m Sam, and Jarrod was taking me with his buddies to the, um, the uh... ‘Chameleon Desire.’ It’s a dance club--he said it’d be fun.”

          Westphalen shot Lucas the motherly stare she’d had more that enough practice with on her own daughter. “We’ve been waiting for you for six hours. Professor Maybrid had another technique he wanted to try and where were you? Getting pissed-up in some bar with a sixteen-year old’s body!”

          Lucas’ head cocked to the side. “I’m eighteen. I kin git blasted in this state.”

          “Lucas can’t! He’s never had a drink before, and he’s never been drunk!”

          Oh, this was fodder for later conversation. She couldn’t contain the sudden laughter at Lucas not ever being drunk and balanced herself on the counter. She joked between snickers. “Would it matter if I said the dolphin made me do it?”

          Neither of them answered, just glared.

          “Look,” Samantha tried to explain herself, briefly loosing her balance, “I just got sick and tired of being the good girl behind the curtain. If you were in my position, you’d do the same.” She waved her hands through the air on the last word, then stopped, glancing off into space. Being drunk, her attention span had gone to nil. “Why does sick always go with tired anyway? It’s like Ben and Jerry; you never have one without the other.”

          Nathan’s face shifted to one of disappointment. “I’m surprised at you, Samantha. I thought you had more sense,” he pointed at the unsteady teen. “When you’re ready to take this seriously, you know where to find us,” he stated sharply and left the room, waiting for Kristin on the other side of the door.

          Samantha’s cushion of alcohol was quickly deflating from the captain’s words as she watched him, her sudden laughter diminishing with it. Wanting to explain herself again, she turned to Kristin as the doctor walked past her. Her demeanor mirrored Bridger’s perfectly.

          “Kristin, I--”

          “I’ll be back with something for the hangover,” her words, though despondent, cut deep into Samantha, and the click of the door was like a hammer to her chest. Feeling sobriety pressing in on her along with guilt, she stumbled into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed, looking through strands of blond hair across Lucas’ eyes, and groaned.

          Lucas was going to be pissed.

* * * *

          It was a nice darkness to live in--peaceful, serene, silent. Although the light that chased it made him want to run far far away.

          Lucas struggled to wake up through a steadily rising sense of discomfort that grew from his stomach and spread through him like wild fire. His eyes fluttered sleepily as he began to make out blurred shapes and colors of the room around him. He groaned, cringing and wishing he’d remained asleep. Colors and shapes became clear as he sat up, wincing from a throbbing headache that didn’t dissipate when he put his hand to his forehead. Whatever hit him must have punched him in the gut, then smashed his head through drywall.

          One of the figures he made out was Samantha sitting with her knees up on the edge of the bed. *Lucas, let me explain,* she began.

          “Save it. I already know,” he uttered painfully through gritted teeth. The drummer inside his skull refused to quit.

          She looked quizzically at him. *But, how could you--*

          “You took a joy ride, Sam!” he shot angrily. “What were you thinking?” He cringed in pain. Where was Tylenol when he needed it?

          Samantha was surprised that he knew this at all, then lowered her head in shame before meeting his gaze again. *You were conscious of everything?*

          He glared at her, venom lacing his words. “Unfortunately.”

          *I thought Dr. Smith said you wouldn’t--*

          “Yea, well she was wrong,” he clutched his stomach. “Right through three pieces of chocolate cream pie, a scampi dinner, half of someone else’s, and five beers in a drinking game--wrong.” Yelling hurt, so he opted for a low growl of disdain.

          *Lucas, I’m sorry,* she pleaded. *Please, I’ll never do it again. I swear. I’ve learned my lesson.*

          He looked up at her with pain filled eyes, and though he knew her apology was sincere, he couldn’t stop himself. “I want you out of my head and out of my life.”

          *That’s just the beer talking*

          “It shouldn’t be talking at all!” he groaned and laid back down. “If I wanted to get hungover, I wanted to do it on my own terms. By my own actions,” he spat, and rolled over onto his side, curling up into a ball.

          Samantha’s energy retreated out of controls way and he saw her turn her back on him, hugging her knees. *I really am sorry,* her whispered voice echoed through his already pounding head. *It’s not easy having to adapt to your male society.*

          “Yea, I noticed when you tried to hit on Jarod,” he muttered.

          She blushed, but knew she was treading paper-thin ice. *Jarod is sensitive, and cute. Besides, he knew it was me.*

          “But no one else did. Now everyone thinks I’m a fruit loop.” He tried to burry his face in the pillow in embarrassment. How could he face the outside world again? Maybe if he could just crawl inside the pillowcase...

          *Julianna doesn’t, and I know you’re not.*

          “I don’t wanna hear your opinion right now,” he clutched at his painfully clenching stomach and focused on his breathing to ignore it and her.

          She hadn’t meant to hurt the only person who understood her. In no way was that her intention. The horrible sense of disappointment she now felt made her ill, but nothing she could say would make a difference. Her carelessness had damaged the only real friendship she had. She wanted to crawl into that pillow case and die.

          For a few seconds--or hours; Lucas couldn’t tell--all he could hear was the whir of the ceiling fan. And even that was too loud to be normal. He cringed when the door to his dorm opened followed by a British voice.

          “Lucas?” Kristin entered the bedroom to find Lucas curled up at the head of the bed.

          “Too loud,” he muttered.

          “Sorry,” she whispered. “Here, I’ve brought a cure for the hangover.” She handed Lucas a glass of water with two extra strength Advil, and set some saltine crackers and a warm soda on the small bedside table.

          He sat up and took them gratefully. “Thanks.” He downed the Advil and chugged the water in one gulp. “Now can you get her outa here?” he nodded in bitterness toward Samantha’s image.

          Westphalen shook her head slightly and sighed as she sat down on the bed, wishing she knew what he could see. “You know we’re trying.”

          Lucas nodded and nibbled on a cracker. His stomach lurched in protest. “For this she should be sentenced to life in a bottle and corked.”

          Her eyes widened. “You were aware of what happened?”

          “Yes. Why is that so hard for people to understand?” he held more bite than he intended. He exhaled, taking another sip of water. “She had a fun day as me. I saw and felt everything, but I couldn’t do anything about it. It was like watching a bad interactive holovid. If my dad finds out about her, I might as well be ostracized from the entire Wolenczak family completely.” He nibbled on the cracker. His eyes found the doctor’s briefly before lowering away from the painful light of the dimly lit room.

          Kristen lost her voice for a moment. She believed that the procedure had put him into a dormant state, yet if it had, he wouldn’t be able to describe anything. There was no reason he could want to lie.

          “I can’t believe you guys didn’t know I was still conscious. This should have told you something,” he pointed at the transmitter still attached to his temple. “I was screaming as loud as I could but not even Samantha heard me. Or if she did, she ignored me.”

          *I wasn’t ignoring you,* Sam said honestly.

          Lucas grimaced. “Her voice hurts.”

          “I know,” Kristen soothed. She patted his knee. “Get some rest and we’ll try again in the morning.” She got up to go, but Lucas stopped her.

          “No. No, not this. Check the harmonics. Change the amplification level. I don’t want to wake up to another hangover.”

          “We’ll tell Prof. Maybrid in the morning, Lucas.” Though it was a command, her voice was bordering on caring mother. “If you need anything, we’re staying down the hall.”

          Lucas nodded, not arguing about sleep and watched her go. He sat in silence, waiting for the headache to subside.

          Sam sat as far in his mind as she could get from his body's reaction to the alcohol. *I'm really sorry, Lucas.* She paused, mentally bit her lip and tried for a more upbeat approach to smooth things over. *Maybe if they adjust the Frequency harmonics to .12 instead of 1.0, the resonance won't be as bad. At least it worked with a sonic resonator back at Caicos.*

          "Maybe," he muttered through crunching a cracker.

          *Next time, they can...*

          "No, Sam. There won't be another next time," he growled to the empty room.

          *Of course there will. We have to.*

          "No, we don't... don't..." Lucas's stomach lurched. Within seconds he was up, across the dorm, and in the bathroom kneeling on the floor over the toilet bowl. His stomach heaved violently and he vomited three times before resting his head on his arm across the toilet seat. He breathed hard. Although he felt better, he still wanted to curl up and die.

          Samantha breathed. There was no way she could avoid that. She wanted to cry. She had done this to him, and not only was she paying for it, but he had to reap her mistake. She mirrored his want to curl up and die.

          "Shut up," Lucas whispered between breaths. He closed his eyes and sat on the cold off-white tile floor for a while, focusing on just breathing in and out.

          Finally, he gathered enough strength to get to his feet, and flushed the toilet. He shuffled across the floor back to his room.

          Samantha stayed with him in guiltful silence without another word for the rest of the night.

          Lucas nibbled on the last of the crackers to have something on his stomach, then lay back down. It didn't take long for him to fall into a dreamless sleep.

* * * * The next morning...

          Lucas awoke to the suns rays falling across the floor and sat up into full stretch, placing a hand to his head. He got up, stretched his legs, not even thinking about Samantha, but focusing more on the refreshed sensation of a cleared head, and yawned. Quickly, he dressed and started down to the cafeteria for breakfast when something else totally unrelated to his morning bliss stopped him cold in his tracks and he froze. Unfortunately, the slamming sensation woke up his passenger.

          *mm?* Samantha’s groggy morning voice crept awaked. She was fine until... *uh oh...oh no...no...,* she moaned.

          “Ah Christ, I gotta piss like a race horse,” he grumbled and made a detour to the bathroom.

          Lucas peeked in, making sure no one was in the room, and entered. Immediately, his eyes drifted to the pock-marked white tiled ceiling and Samantha began counting the individual dots along the edges.

          He walked up to a urinal. “Do I have to stare at the ceiling every time I gotta use the Jon?”

          *Yes,* she answered shortly to the descending sound of a zipper.

          Lucas tried to avert his gaze ahead of him, but found he couldn’t even blink because of Samantha’s strong focused control over his eyes. ~Come on, Sam. You’re being paranoid.~ He sighed, exasperated. ~This is getting redi--~

          *Think very hard on how you want to finish that sentence,* she growled.

          “--repetitive.” This was a battle he was all to use to fighting, and was just as annoyed with fighting it. ~This is not my fault. You’re the one who got drunk at a dance club. ~

          *This isn’t up for debate.*

          ~You know, you’re making more out of this than it actually is. It’s a perfectly normal, ordinary biological function for removing waste. You as a scientist should logically accept that. ~

          *Logically I shouldn’t be standing up, either. It’s more difficult than you realize, Wolenczak.*

          “Deal with it.”

          *Paug mo’haune. {Kiss my ass}*

          The conversation fell silent when someone else walked in and staked out the urinal to Lucas’ left. The man nodded casually to Lucas. “Hey.”

          “Hey,” Lucas responded, eyes still glued to the ceiling tiles.

          “Counting tiles again?” the man joked. That’s when Lucas recognized him. They’d met in the bathroom yesterday morning while Lucas was scouting the grounds before the meeting.

          “What? Oh. Yup. Missed one.” Lucas had found quickly that if you multiply the number of dimples on two sides of a tile, then multiply that number by the number of tiles, you get the number of dots in the ceiling. Easy enough.

          The guy looked up, then back. “If the light fixtures suddenly move, let me know.”

          “Uh, yea. Sure.” This guy wasn’t much older than he was.

          Lucas flushed and turned to the sink to wash his hands when he felt his eyes lower and his head turn toward the other guy. ~SAMANTHA!~

          Quickly, he ripped control from her, dried off his hands and left the room as fast as he possibly could. “What the hell were you doing?!”

          *um,* she blushed, sounding slightly meek, *curiosity?*

          He rolled his eyes.

          *I guess it is true what they say about hands.*

          Lucas started down the hall toward the cafeteria. “We set that rule on day One. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you.”

          Sam tried hard not to laugh. *Um, I think he smiled at you.”

          Deer have looked better in headlights at this point. Lucas took off down the hall like a shot. “Next time, you’re going to deal with this. And I’m going to make you whether you like it or not.”

Continue...