<strong>Alex Macauley</strong><br/>Location: Intelligence Center, then Mess Hall<br/>Tag: Mari Prescott, anyone else, FUBAR<br/><br/>Mac turned the Control Room watch over to his relief and headed back to Intel with a sigh.  Normally being Officer of the Deck was a strain, but in this case it had been good to concentrate on the familiar tasks and rhythms of conning the ship.  Now all he had to do was collect Mari and-<br/><br/>Macauley stopped dead at the sight of an empty radio console and a very guilty looking Peters, who was watching his officer with an expression normally reserved for puppies caught piddling on the couch.  As Mac approached he held up his hands and said,<br/><br/>"Bout two minutes ago, Mr. Macauley.  I was translating a batch of Soviet traffic, turned around, and she was gone.  She hadn't moved all watch, so I thought-"  Mac waved it off.  Question was, where'd she go?  Where would Mari go on<em>Triton</em>?  Knowing her, probably the one place on the boat where she would cause the most t-<br/><br/>Before he could finish that thought Mac was through the door and running for the nearest 'tween-decks passage, bellowing out "Make a hole!" as he grabbed the ladder poles and slid down a deck.  His feet pounded against the metal deck as he vaulted through watertight hatches every few feet, heading for the growing roar he could hear coming from the crew's mess deck as a voice in his head just chanted, "<em>Oh fuck</em>,<em>oh fuck</em>,<em>oh fuck</em>" over and over.  Skidding to a stop just outside the mess hall doors, Mac wrenched open a damage control locker and grabbed out a length of 2x4 lumber, spinning it quickly in his hand to check the weight before he wrenched the door open.<br/><br/>The scene on the other side was as bad as he feared.  The crew was in two knots, one clustered around the caged redhead, their hands running all over her body, pinching, grasping, squeezing.  The other was around something down on the deck, something that screamed and kicked and gave off flashes of white skin and red hair.  Mac drew in a lungful and screamed it out, all at once.<br/><br/>"ATTENTION ON DECK!"  It didn't work, of course- discipline was way too far gone for that.  It did get everyone's attention, and clear enough of a path in the knot of sailors for Mac to walk through and stand over her.  Her jumpsuit was pulled down to the waist, her bra half-shredded and barely hanging off her chest, and there were already bruises and red marks starting to show on her pale skin.  Mac wrenched her up to her feet and held her by the arm, half supporting and half controlling her, while he swept his eyes over the crew.  The looks he got back were ugly, and there were a lot of angry mutters from the back of the crowd.<br/><br/>"Fuckin' officers, coming in to grab all the pussy for themselves."<br/><br/>"She walked in here, she oughta be ours."<br/><br/>"Let's put 'em both in the cage and see how they strip down."<br/><br/>"C'mon, Sir, let us have a little fun, huh?"<br/><br/>Mac flipped the two-by-four around in his hand, and the murmurs got a bit quieter.  He was on thin ice here- there was one of him and about thirty of them, and using the threat of physical violence to supplement his legitimate authority would corrode it over time.  That could take care of itself later.  Right now all that mattered was getting Mari out of here.  He swept his eyes over the crowd and was pleased to see that most of them looked down, some of them edged over towards the knot gathered around Ophelia.<br/><br/>Mac's voice was tight with barely-repressed anger.  "We got a small misunderstanding here.  Skipper says whatever you do in this compartment's your business, and that's fine.  But this one ain't supposed to be here, so I'm gonna take her.  That one," he leaned his head towards Ophelia, "she's fair game.  Just remember, anybody steps out of line outside this mess deck, I will take them apart myself."  It didn't quiet them entirely, but Mac had enough of a reputation to buy enough time for a strategic withdrawal.  Grabbing Mari by the arm, he stepped back through the watertight door, dragging her two compartments forward until they got to his stateroom, ignoring her struggles and protests.  Grabbing the battle phone off the wall outside, he dialed, waited.<br/><br/>"XO, it's Macauley.  Just pulled Prescott out of an ugly situation on the mess decks.  You might want to get down there."  The Knife would have his ass for handing off the problem like that, but that was probably going to happen anyway.  He shoved Mari inside the stateroom, wrenched the door shut, and rounded on her, face contorting as he finally let out the anger and frustration he'd been holding inside.<br/><br/>"Are you dumb, or just fucking stupid, Prescott?  What the fuck did you think was going to happen if you went down there in the middle of a whole watch of sailors, huh?  You think they were just going to kiss your hand and let you walk through?"  He leaned forward, grabbing her chin and making her look up into his eyes, the pressure of his fingers popping her mouth half-open.  "I left you alone because I trusted your judgment, but if you're not prepared to exercise it you can spend the rest of the fucking patrol wearing a leash and collar for all I care.  I will lead you around the boat myself before I let you start a mutiny or disrupt the crew until somebody shoves a torpedo up our asses."