Disclaimer: I don't own anybody from the show Andromeda, and I am making no money with this. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Beka Valentine merely stared at Tyr Anasazi, uncomprehending.
"Why?" she finally asked him.
"I will explain over dinner," he answered shortly. He turned, obviously believing his reply to be sufficient.
"But why dinner, in the first place?" she asked, glancing up from her seat in the pilot seat. "I'm not just a human woman, I am a human woman that allowed herself to become addicted to a drug. I was dependent on it." She was becoming irritated. "Aren't I too inferior to eat with?"
He watched her for awhile, his face calculating, and she wondered if he would answer her. He seemed to be deciding something. "That is what I wish to clarify," he responded, finally. "At dinner."
She stared after him, fuming, as he left the bridge. She hadn't given him an answer to his invitation, but Beka knew she would go. She just wouldn't tell him she would go, so he could wonder, until that night, if she'd show up.
Gradually, her anger subsided -- and she wondered what she would wear.
* * *
Beka stood outside the door of the Obs. Deck at the appointed time. She wore what she'd been
wearing all day- she didn't want him to think she cared about his opinion. But she did. She
hesitated for a full five minutes, just staying right outside the door, worrying. She knew this
would be a turning point of some kind. Tyr was a Nietzchean, and would not tolerate working for
her if he decided she was...inadequate. Inferior. Unworthy.
This was going to be a test.
Grimly, she walked in the room. She wasn't going to fail any damned test, and he wasn't going to leave her. She wouldn't let him.
That was final.
When he saw her, Tyr looked up, smiling with wry amusement. "So," he commented, "you finally decided to come in."
Grumbling, she sat down at her plate. "Wipe that smile off your face, Nietzchean, before I do it for you," she threatened, only half joking. She held up a fist.
He was appraising her again. "I think you could," he said finally. "In combat, you would get a few good shots in, before I won."
She looked up, ignoring his arrogant certainty of the ultimate outcome, and concentrated instead on his saying that she could 'get a few good shots in,' if they were to fight. "That bothers you," she said bluntly.
"Yes," he replied, without preamble.
"Because I'm human?"
"No. Because I'm Nietzchean. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. I should not be vulnerable to anyone. The fact that you are a human woman just makes you all the more admirable." He paused. "You will have strong children."
"Thank you," she said, addressing the compliment first.
If it wasn't because she was human, then it had to be... "Because I became addicted to flash, then," she supplied the new reason for him.
"Yes."
There was a large, tense silence in which they simply ate. Then, Tyr sat back in his chair, folded his arms, and asked, "Why, Valentine?"
"What?" she snapped, irritably.
"As I've said before, you're usually tolerably self-interested. Taking flash was smart. It worked. Getting addicted to it was not -- it made you weak, vulnerable. I want to know why the hell you did that, Captain Valentine."
She hid her annoyance well. Looking him straight in the eye, Beka said, "I don't know."
He snorted. "You're a good liar," he said, trying not to let his voice rise, "but not good enough. You put yourself in a dangerous position." He met her eyes directly. "You could have been killed."
She looked at him closely, trying to see if that bothered him. She couldn't read him.
Smiling, she crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back. "You're a good cook, Tyr," she said, noting that the subject change almost made his anger seeable. "But- why did you make it? You could have asked me this on the bridge today."
He almost smiled back, at her avoidance of his question. "Are you going to answer me? I did ask you first."
She wanted to leave, but couldn't. She had to prove herself, here and now, and they both knew it. Stalling, she asked, "Why should I tell you, Anasazi?" Beka asked.
"Why seems to be the question tonight," he remarked.
"It's an important question."
He sat forward. "Then answer it."
"I..." she glared at him, then looked at her plate. "It was a test."
"A...test," he repeated, uncomprehending.
She looked back up, and her eyes bore in to him. "I thought Dylan was going to ditch me, eventually. I wanted to prove it to myself."
"We are discussing your dependency on flash," he sputtered. "Not some test. I want to know why you did it." He had leaned forward, intently, demanding an answer. She responded in kind, unconsciously bending forward, as well, with the urgency of what she would say.
"I made myself weak to see what everyone would do."
"You knew you would be dependent on Dylan. You expected it!" he declared, obviously surprised.
"Yes," she said evenly. "I wanted to see if he would ditch me, or decide to leave me on flash until I died."
Her confession disturbed him. "He could have done just that. Beka..." he started to say more, but halted. His eyes narrowed.
"But he didn't," she said, her voice soft. "It's finally been beat in to me. For whatever reason, that man, the one we all follow for some crazy, insane reason, is not going to abandon us. Any of us. For any reason. I can be dependent on him, Tyr. He's not going to leave." Then, under her breath, she whispered, "Like my father did." She didn't mean for him to listen, but his superior hearing picked it up.
Ah, he thought. And there it is. "Maybe he won't on purpose, Valentine, but what if he is killed?"
She grinned. "If he is, it'll be by me, Tyr. Or maybe you. He can be awfully irritating, can't he?"
"Yes," he agreed, fighting a smile -- he lost.
He knew what he needed to know, now. Her dependency on flash itself was nonexistent, although she did like it a little too much. It was people she wanted. She could take care of herself, but she wanted others to be there, that she could depend on.
She had not answered his question, but he knew what would happen if Dylan got himself killed. Dylan, himself, had asked it of him. Beka would take command -- and he, Tyr, would look out for them. For her.
Beka got tired of waiting for him to speak again, and decided to take offense. She launched herself from her chair, already regretting what she'd revealed to him, then left as quickly as possible. She stalked out, but when she was outside the door, and out of his sight, she smiled. She knew she'd passed his test.
Tyr watched her, bemused, as she left. She really did look good when she stalked out of a room -- he should know. She'd done it both times he'd invited her to dinner.
I should invite her to dinner more often, Tyr thought.
He grinned.
The End