And what, a nasty voice at the back of his mind asked, will you do when the Captain orders you to return them?

He had no answer.

***

Ted rubbed his wet uniform with the towel, then gave it up as a bad job and removed his jacket and shirt completely.  The XO had shoved him into the shower fully clothed ... absently, Ted found himself wondering just what regulation had been broken by wetting the Captain’s uniform.  Wasn't there something about not tampering with the Captain’s dignity?

He shook his head, sourly.  The water had done an effective job of sobering him up, leaving him grimly aware of just how badly he'd played the fool.  If he had realised that the alcohol he'd consumed before the call to war had worked its way out of his system, he might have realised that he couldn't drink freely any longer.  And to think he was meant to be in command!  What a fool he'd been, he told himself.  How could he really blame the XO for considering relieving him of command?

Maybe he should relieve himself, part of his mind suggested.  But regulations, which declined to offer many acceptable reasons for relieving a commanding officer, flatly forbade the commanding officer from surrendering command while underway.  He could put the XO or another officer on the bridge, in position to act rapidly if necessary, but he could never give them the full weight of his authority.  No matter what he did, he – Captain Sir Theodore Smith – was the commanding officer, master under God.  He could not shirk that responsibility for a second time.

He walked back into the main room and scooped up a dressing gown, pulling it on to cover his bare chest.  The XO was seated in one of the chairs, a cup of steaming coffee in front of him.  Another was positioned on Ted’s desk, waiting for him.  Ted wasn't fond of coffee – he strongly preferred tea – but he had to admit that it would be good for him.  Sitting down, he wondered who’d made it – and what they knew about his situation.

“I made it,” Fitzwilliam said, answering the unspoken question.  “No one else has come here ... ah, I think I broke your door.”

Ted smiled at the sudden uncertainty in his XO’s voice, then glanced over at the hatch.  It was pinned open, barely wide enough to allow someone as skinny as Fitzwilliam to slip through the gap.  He shook his head in droll amusement; apart from himself, only Midshipwoman Lopez had access to his cabin.  It had never occurred to him that the XO would need to enter too without breaking the locks.  He’d acquired too many bad habits when his ship had been drifting at anchor, with no hope of ever returning to active service.