Diving Deep

by P D Singer

  “Bet not.” Lee had his phone up, clicking at the submarine, the ferryboat on the water with its ensign dipped, the neat rows of houses and apartments in the town at their feet. He ambled off, dodging between clumps of tourists, recording everything he could see.

  Bobby took one step and decided to wait in place, where the platform seemed stable. Kind of. If the wobbles were all his, he’d have them right here where toppling over would take a really good push from the wind, which—thank God—was blowing into his face and not at his back. He could see well enough from right here. If the three old men would quit standing between him and the sub. There, they’d wandered off. But here came a family of four, and now six young women, who smiled at him and glanced at the boat, and then there was the single man with the big tripod and the very long lens setting up right—damn it. Bobby would have to force his feet from their safe-enough-almost-for-now spot.

  A presence at his elbow made him jump. “Don’t do that!”

  “Sorry, wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.”

  Belatedly Bobby realized Lee’d been speaking when he approached. “Um, sorry. But….”

  A strong hand curving around his elbow went with the “but.” “You don’t like heights.”

  How had this never come up before? Oh, by never going anywhere high in the air. On their long-ago trip to the US capital, the lines at the Washington Monument had been enough reason to hit the Smithsonian instead.

  “I’m better with depths than I am with heights,” Bobby confessed. How much better, he was trying not to say, except crushing Lee’s hand between his arm and side probably said everything.

  “You won’t fall.” Lee spoke with calm reassurance, not teasing irritation.

  “I know, except… my lizard brain’s not so convinced.” Lee’s quiet support brought Bobby’s pulse down a few beats and let him breathe that much more deeply.

  “I’m here, and I won’t let you.” Lee’s grip tightened on Bobby’s arm, and he moved in close, touching. Just the solidity of someone he trusted let Bobby relax that smidgen more to let him agree when Lee asked, “Do you want to look at the sub with me?”

  Because yes, he trusted Lee not to let him fall. Whatever rational understanding he had of his safety had been left behind on the ground, leaving the gibbering monkey-knowledge running loose in his brain. Lee quieted that rampaging fear with his calm and his ability to stand near the abyss without going in.

  Bobby hadn’t trusted that part of Lee in a long time. Two years. More.

  He took six steps forward.

  Lee matched his pace and his distance. “Think of the sub as being underwater, and we’re looking at it like that painting we just saw. Lots of water and amazing viz—a hundred yards, like the Caribbean. We’re looking through crystal-clear water, and there’s a sub.”

  Yeah, put an entire imaginary ocean over the land and the U-boat, and the pressure in his chest eased. With the clearing of his mind, details swam into focus.

  Now he could see, really see, the details that made the VIICs distinctive: the saddle tanks bulging at the midships, the double rudders, the point of the ocean-going-style prow. The snorkel stowed in its slot on the wooden slats of the deck, the gun mounts. All of that, covered with sponges, mussels, and anemones, and it could be lying in the water on its side.

  “The split in the hull goes right there.” Even if Lee couldn’t see exactly where he was pointing, Bobby’d be able to graph it later. “I think it goes through the crew quarters, not the under officers’. But we’ll need to go in to be sure.”

  “Oh yeah.” Was that approval of Bobby’s calm or the prospect of entering this sub when their dive site remained beyond Lee’s reach?

  Bobby wouldn’t ask.

  For long minutes he gazed, memorizing the reality of what he’d seen in line drawings and models, or covered with sea life. Lee waited silently, his grip never wavering.

  A gull swooped past, its screech both blending with Bobby’s imaginary sea and breaking his mental hold on the nonexistent water. His chest tightened. So did Lee’s grip. The tower became a tower again, and far too high in the sky. Yet he hadn’t fallen, just as Lee promised.

  Even with his captain’s support, Bobby’d had all he could take. “Let’s go look inside.”

  FUNNY HOW after years of knowing someone, he could still surprise you. Bobby, so absolutely brilliant underwater, in tight spaces, and in the dark—or all three at once—scared of heights? Lee didn’t understand it, but he’d go with it. He’d promised not to let Bobby fall, but what an easy promise with a brick platform to stand on and guard rails to chest height. Bobby usually faced bigger hazards where such promises were harder kept.

  They passed through a door cut into U-995’s hull into the stern of the boat. Bobby paused once inside, giving what Lee considered unhealthy attention to the stern torpedo tube. “Bet I could get through that.”

  “Bet you could, if that tube was absolutely straight and you had a single tank.” Neither of those conditions struck Lee as likely. He’d heard of men evacuating subs through torpedo tubes, but they were unencumbered with diving gear.

  “Twenty-two inches across; that’s plenty of room.”

  Getting through the sub with their backpacks on made a good preview for swimming through with gear. The narrow passage through the electric motor room and the diesel engine room came with bumps and thumps for Lee. Bobby managed to turn and squat without clonking his pack on valves and machinery. Much. He’d probably do better if he were horizontal and could exhale hard to drift down to the level he wanted.

  Every knob, every valve, every pipe looked designed to reach out and grab a diver. And that was from pristine condition, where all metal was properly bolted to the bulkhead, not splayed out in wild confusion after a hit. And Bobby planned to penetrate the wreck, all because Lee, in his dumbass, drunk, magical thinking, hoped to lure him back with a mystery.

  Had he invited Bobby to die? Because this boat promised that her slain sibling would try to take revenge.

  “It’s pretty tight quarters in here, Bobby.” Lee turned to read a dial, ending up nose to glass in order not to tangle with the hydraulics on the other side of the narrow corridor.

  “Yeah, but doable.” He didn’t sound concerned.

  “Are you thinking upright orientation?” The man was good—the best—but not invincible, and definitely not subject to shrinking to the size of a ten-year-old, who would still be hard-pressed to get through this passage turned on its side. “Did we bring a tape measure?”

  “Well, turned sideways it’s going to be a bit tight, but I’ve dived equally narrow spots.” Bobby shot a puzzled glance over his shoulder. “So have you.”

  He had. There were reasons he drank, too, after he’d pushed through an opening and heard a crash behind him, changing the shape of that passage and possibly blocking it forever. He’d been furious when Bobby forced him not to dive, but there might have been some relief. A little bourbon helped to anesthetize his pride. “There’ll be shit sticking out all over. It’ll be narrower than this.”

  “Watch your head.” Bobby ducked through the hatch in the pressure bulkhead. “See, a whole meter across, perfectly round. We could probably get through it at the same time.” He stood too soon, catching his pack on the lip of the hatch.

  Lee pulled him free. “Just like that, huh? If the hatch is open, or can open.”

  “I won’t be trying to get my head and my feet through at the same time,” Bobby grumbled. “Why are you being so negative? We’re here to see what we’re starting with. I know things will be turned and smashed.”

  “I know. Sorry.” Lee stayed silent. Maybe if Bobby weren’t jet-lagged, he’d know why every protrusion and pipe looked like death waiting to grab hold.

  They were the holdups in the tourist parade, stopping to examine everything in detail. A gap opened ahead of them; muttering grew from behind. More space in the command room let them step off to the side so those coming up behind them could
pass. Lee took a turn peering up the periscope, but Bobby was far more interested in the stairway to the conning tower hatch. Sunlight poured through the opening at the top. “Wish I could go up and check what kind of mechanism that is.”

  “You’d be opening it from the outside,” Lee pointed out. “We’ll check the close-ups we took from the top of the monument.”

  People pushed past them once they reached the crew’s bunks, double high with storage cubbies above and below and an aisle wider than in the technical areas. Wood fittings seemed strange, but why not, really?

  “Bet that razor fell out of one of those storage bins. The wood’s probably rotted.” Lee reached to the sliding door, pulling back only an inch from the recessed handle. “I really want to open that.”

  “Me too, but….” Not in a museum ship. The temptation to lie down on one of the twelve bunks was equally overwhelming. “What fun, to have your own bed only a third of the hours of the day.”

  “Wonder if they ever doubled up? Like when everyone was wrecked with fatigue.” Bobby peered at the underside of a top bunk. “These are so short too.”

  The orange mattresses with the strange brocade covers were barely wide enough for one, but needs must. Certainly not wide enough to share for pleasure, not with thirty other men wandering by, even if the other thirteen on sleep shift weren’t enough deterrent. “I can only imagine what the sub smelled like after a week on patrol.”

  “Or after a long voyage?” They wrinkled into matching blech faces. “Maybe after a while you’d be immune to it.”

  “Maybe they could open the hatch and air out the boat?” Bobby pointed at the hatch with its ladder stowed where the tourists couldn’t climb it. “If I could get that one open….”

  The press of the tourists shoved them out past the tiny galley, the officers’ quarters, and the captain’s lone bunk, each with a torpedo for a companion. The bunks were looking better and better; to hell with the tourists. Lee yawned again. “I’m beginning to understand how the men could sleep while the boat was running.” At least the big diesels were on the other end of the boat.

  They blinked when they stumbled back into the sunshine. “I’m sure I missed something important,” Bobby said through another yawn.

  “Like how did they get the torpedoes in? Do they pop something on the deck?”

  “I am so damned worn out, I can’t even think.” Bobby pointed away from the U-995. “I smell food. I am going to follow my nose until I find something edible, and if we don’t find that guesthouse, I’m going to sleep in the grass. I’ll risk being arrested for vagrancy.”

  They trudged foodward while Lee called the number Rafe had given him, not without a little misgiving that this might be another one of those “grate on the entrance” tricks. The Haus am Meer turned out to have a pleasant woman who spoke English answering the phone. “Yes, I have one room, suitable for two.”

  “Thank you, we’ll take it.” Too jet-lagged and much too exhausted to ask more questions, Lee wasn’t going to question the pennies from heaven that dropped into his lap. Their host for the evening not only directed them to the guesthouse, which was within walking distance, but suggested a café on their route where they might enjoy a simple meal. “We have nine rooms, no restaurant. We serve breakfast only.”

  As long as the bed was flat, Lee didn’t care. In fact, after nearly eighteen hours of traveling since he’d locked up the Bottom Hunter, plus stuffing his foggy brain with information that must be falling out in clumps already, Lee wasn’t too sure “flat” was a requirement either. But the meal of Labskaus washed down with Mineralwasser was delicious and her directions clear. They ended up at a charming half-timbered building that looked like it might have been there since Frederick the Great’s time.

  The innkeeper handed over keys, pleased, no doubt, to be full up for the evening and justifiably proud of her lovely guesthouse. Lee would probably appreciate the stairs with gleaming hardwood steps and intricately lathed spindles more if he didn’t have to climb them.

  “Your room, with en suite bath,” she announced, and opened the door.

  “Lovely, thank you.” Lee pushed through, no longer caring whether the bed had a canopy to descend in the night to decapitate him. He wanted a shower, toothpaste, and a bed, and he didn’t care what order he had them in. Sleep might come first if Bobby beat him to the bathroom.

  He didn’t. But he turned annoying.

  “Uh, Lee? Lee!”

  “Can’t hear you over the water!” Soap, lovely soap, hot water, civilization. Then bed. At last, a flat sleeping surface. With a pillow. And duvets. All puffy. And flat. All perfect to fall into and go unconscious for hours and hours. And hours.

  “Lee. There’s a problem.” Either he was pissed about Lee getting first shower, or he was a total dumbass. This room was deluxe. It had a nice flat bed, and nothing would keep Lee out of it.

  “What?” Lee pulled the covers up.

  “It’s a king bed.”

  “So fucking what?” Dumbass, definitely. He dropped the pillow over his eyes—Bobby would want the light for another few minutes. “I’m wrecked. Your virtue is perfectly safe, even if it wasn’t already perfectly safe.”

  “But—”

  “Mine isn’t perfectly safe?” Lee would have continued giving Bobby shit, but darkness and proneness were too much for him. Flat was good. “Whatever shall—” He was out before he could finish his smartassery. That was okay. Bobby knew his favorite punchlines.

  MAYBE LEE had a point. They’d been awake far too long to quibble over sharing a bed, especially a bed big enough they wouldn’t have to touch. Lots bigger than the queen mattress in the Bottom Hunter. Might as well be in different rooms, there was so much space. Wouldn’t matter that Lee hadn’t bothered opening his pack for fresh skivvies. Or that Bobby was too tired to hunt for underwear after his shower. He slid under the duvet next to Lee. Muffled rasps came from beneath the pillow. Lee always did snore when he was completely exhausted.

  Flicking off the light and settling into the bed, Bobby debated dropping his pillow into the space between them. But it was a nice squishy feather pillow, and why was he being an idiot? He went for comfort with the pillow and with turning his back to Lee.

  Right side of the bed, wrong direction. He never slept on his left side. Bobby could probably fall asleep on a bed of nails right now, but still. He turned over, and it felt right.

  Felt even more right when he drifted from the depths of sleep to near awareness. Oh, yes. The warmth pressed against the curve of his body. The movement of life lifting his arm with each breath. The complete and utter rightness of nighttime wood in the valley of butt.

  Lee’s butt. Bobby jerked awake.

  Maybe Lee had slept through this accidental cuddling. Maybe he could peel his arm away from Lee’s chest and roll over like they hadn’t touched.

  So many nights they’d spooned together, with Lee’s narrower frame tucked against Bobby. Maybe he could linger a moment and savor the taste of the long-ago and the wish-it-could-be.

  If he could keep from moving his hips. Something he’d never needed to do. Tensing up would wake Lee as certainly as thrusting.

  Cautiously he began to peel his arm away.

  “Just roll over. I’m awake.”

  Oh hell. Bobby froze. “Sorry to wake you.”

  “I’ve been awake for a bit.”

  “And you didn’t roll over?”

  “Nowhere to roll to. You chased me all the way to the edge.” Lee detached Bobby’s hand from his chest to bring his fingertips to the angle of the mattress. It wasn’t far to reach. Lee’s knees were probably poking into midair.

  “Sorry.” Bobby retreated to his side of the bed. Lying on his back, he stared into the darkness. His cock lay stiff against his belly, cold where it no longer crowded against Lee’s butt. With every heartbeat his traitorous dick mentioned its displeasure at being taken away from the warmth.

  “It’s okay.” Lee’s murmur came soft and s
ad.

  No, it wasn’t okay. They were companions on a mission. They were accidental bedmates. Bobby had no business rubbing up against Lee like that. Lee was his captain and his fellow investigator. His friend. Not his lover. So of course there he went, jamming his dumb prick where only a lover should go.

  He was wide awake now. And so was Lee. Who hadn’t rolled over. Like he dared not come any closer. Which was dumb; half the bed was his. “You can get comfortable.”

  “Might take a while.” Lee still didn’t move.

  Might take Bobby a while too. A while and some vigorous activity. He remembered the joys of Lee’s body with every fiber of muscle and every nerve. He’d remembered in the depths of sleep how good it felt to snuggle against Lee and wake with need.

  Folding his hands behind his head kept them away from his dick. Didn’t matter if he closed his eyes or left them open, he could still see Lee’s face over his, lips parted and dipping for a kiss. The darkness didn’t hide one single memory. It barely hid the man keeping his distance at the edge of the bed.

  Spatial awareness sucked big-time—he didn’t need to see to know the curve of Lee’s ass or the ropy muscles of his back. Just as he knew where he was underwater once he’d found his markers, he knew where to reach out to touch Lee’s shoulder, his face. Where to lay the flat of his hand to turn Lee over, bring him into kissing range.

  He could replay a thousand memories of the man only an arm’s length away. None of which would let him rest. His cock throbbed with each thought.

  He thought a lot of thoughts.

  He was such an idiot. With all that thinking, he needed some doing. Maybe Lee’d fallen back to sleep already. Maybe he could reach down, stroke himself into a quick orgasm, and quit obsessing.

  That might wake Lee. Lee might still be awake.

  Guess he’d have to get up, hope he didn’t stumble over a stray pack, and rub out a fast one in the bathroom. Half-assed though that would be, when the man he needed to touch lay beside him. This was so fucked-up.