Skull and Dagger

“Drunk,” Frank said simply, rage and disbelief radiating off his entire being as he sat across from his three derelict crewmen.

Jeph and Quinn at least had the decency to look sheepish; Bert just looked pissed, like it was somehow Frank's fault that he’d gotten himself into this trouble…

Frank felt the beginnings of a major headache coming on. “What were you thinking?” he asked in a voice that was deceptively calm. “This ship was attacked and you were all too pissed to do a thing about it!”
“We were…” Quinn began before trailing off with a gulp.

“What?” Frank demanded, his eyes cold.

“Well, see, we were so close to Dead Man’s Island that-”

“You decided you could just shirk your duties?!” Frank was actively yelling now. “Do you have any idea how close we came to-!” He broke off suddenly, the thought of the personal loss he could have suffered too much to bear.

“There’s no excuse for it,” Quinn agreed numbly, hanging his head in shame.

“Damn right, there isn't,” Frank agreed. “And if any of you ever has a lapse like this again…” He leaned forward on the table, his eyes blazing. “You’re off the ship,” he finished coldly before stomping out of the room.

Jeph shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. “Guys…” he began hesitantly.

“We don’t want to hear it,” Bert quickly snapped.

Quinn let out a sigh. “Well, that was a disaster. At least we were kept out of the fighting, though…”

Bert frowned. “I think we’re screwed.”

Quinn shrugged. “Maybe,” he conceded, “or maybe not…”