Disclaimer: obviously none of the characters or specifics belong to me.
Full power returned to the Andromeda with all the melodrama of a light switch turning on. All at once, Rommie's systems were back on line, her internal computer presence flooding along conduits that had been severed, moments ago. Her image returned to the command deck, at the same moment that doors and other automatic systems began to function once again. Communications returned to normal.
"Harper!" Rommie said with enthusiasm, "you are a genius!"
Relief filled her words with a fervent gratitude that had a pleased flush rising to the engineer's face. He grinned, waving a hand into the air.
"I know," he said lightly. "And this genius is exhausted. I've only been up for more than thirty hours working my fingers to the bone for you, lovely lady. This Harper's for bed." The last word was said on the heels of a chin cracking yawn. "Any problems, don't wake me until the next millennium, ok?"
Rommie just smiled, willing to let him say anything he wanted, sleep as long as he wanted, do almost any of the crazy Seamus Harper things he did for restoring her systems to full. She hated being cut off from herself.
"Unless it's a life and death emergency, Harper, you can sleep as long as you want. I'll report to Dylan for you."
It was just after 0700 in the morning. Dylan, she knew, would already be up, already be turning the multi-faceted problem facing them over and over in his mind, trying to see a solution that had eluded them the night before. She knocked politely on his office door before entering.
As she'd known he would be, he was standing at the viewport, staring out at the stars. He was already in uniform, his hair combed, a cup of coffee steaming on his desk. But when he turned toward her, she could see the lines of weariness in his face, the look of sleep he still wore. She was willing to bet that he'd gotten very little of it the night before, tossing and turning as he wrestled with the threat to his crew, to her. Things like that ate at Dylan.
"Harper's succeeded in getting all of my systems up and fully functioning again," she said, pleased to be able to offer her Captain at least some good news.
"Good." A few of the lines eased from Dylan's face, and Rommie was touched to think he'd been that worried about her. "So now all we have to do is figure out some way to defeat a thing that's threatened the cosmos since before Trance's people - whoever they might be - were young, and go back into slipstream, risking utter destruction and death, and deal with it. Right. Piece of cake." His voice was empty, devoid of emotion, of hope.
Rommie froze, unsure how to respond. She was unused to facing this side of Dylan. He was always the one urging the rest of them not to give up or lose hope. He was the one they depended on to keep them all together. He was the one she depended on. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. What could she say? The hundreds of platitudes programmed into her systems rang false to her unpracticed ear. She knew, somehow, that Dylan didn't need to hear any of them. What he needed was a genuine, human response. Something to restore his faith in himself, in her, in their abilities to deal with the situation at hand. She wavered for a few nanoseconds, then took a deep breath. She tried to inject her tone with all of the respect and faith she had for her Captain.
"Dylan, we have the capability to defeat this thing. If we didn't, future Trance never would have insisted we come here. She traded places with her past self in order to save us, not destroy us, remember?"
When he didn't perk up immediately, just stood there staring at her, she shuffled a couple of steps closer to him. Maybe she wasn't saying it right.
"Look, damnit, I've known a lot of Captains since my commission - not just my own, but those of my sister ships, too. You're one of the best, Dylan. I feel privileged to call you my Captain. As for your ragtag crew, you've got to admit they're the most innovative group of people ever to grace the deck of heavy cruiser." She paused. "And then there's me. I'm a ship of the Glorious Heritage line, Dylan. We were the best. Elite. The crowning achievement of warships. We will succeed, because none of us - not you, not me, and certainly not your crew - believe in failure. You have never let us fail, and you won't start now."
Finally run out of words to say, and a little bit mortified that so much had spilled out of her, Rommie fell silent, waiting. Dylan didn't respond immediately. He stared at her for so long that she began to fidget uncomfortably.
Finally, he smiled, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and laughed. Rommie frowned. Not exactly the response she'd been looking for, but at least it was something.
"Rommie..." he began, shaking his head slightly. His expression was still weary, but at least it was filled with genuine good humor now. "I'm sorry for ever doubting." He looked at her, his blue eyes suddenly grave and serious, and she wondered why all of her circuits seemed to freeze simultaneously. "You shame me," he said softly. "I should have looked at those things myself, had faith in myself, my crew, and you. Thank-you."
She had absolutely no idea what to say in response. The traditional human phrase programmed into her memory came out before she could think of anything.
"You're welcome."
* * *
Beka woke to a languorous, relaxed feeling that filled her with a pleasant reluctance to fully wake up and face the world. She drifted, snuggled under the warmth of the blankets a bit more, curled herself closer to the hard, warm body beside her. And froze.
Adrenaline surged through her, wiping away all feelings of relaxation, and replacing them completely with a sudden rush of memory, a return, to her mind, of sanity. One thought repeated over and over in her shocked consciousness. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God...I didn't, please God, tell me I didn't... Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut in denial, and she slowly forced them open to slits. A damning expanse of smooth, dark skinned, muscled chest greeted her sight, and she quickly shut them again. Oh my God, I did! We did! This can't be happening to me... And the worst of it was, she had to curl her fingers into fists to keep them from reaching out to trace that smooth expanse of chest, to stop herself from curving her body around Tyr's and sighing contentedly. What the hell was wrong with her?
"Good morning, Beka." His voice was neutral, quiet, as if he didn't want to startle her. And even this morning, it still sent a shiver down her spine.
So much for sneaking quietly out of the room. And then a sudden thought occurred to her. Who's room were they in? She didn't remember, exactly, when they'd left the observation deck the night before and sojourned to quarters. And Tyr was still waiting for her reply. He knew she was awake. He'd spoken to let her know that he was awake, and aware. She knew that unequivocally. Damn it, damn it, damn it!
"I'm not a coward." She wasn't aware she'd spoken out loud until he replied.
"Then open your eyes, Captain Valentine."
Slowly, with great reluctance, she did. And found herself staring into a pair of brown eyes just a few inches away from hers. She swallowed, and said the first thing that came into her mind.
"Hi."
He nodded gravely in reply. "How are you feeling?"
She frowned, taking stock of her body for the first time. God, she thought, I ache in places I didn't know could ache after sex. Of course, she also couldn't quite remember how many times they'd actually... she stopped that line of thought before it could lead to a place she didn't want to go. She was about to answer Tyr with a stock "fine", when he suddenly lifted a hand and brushed her hair behind her ear. The gesture, and the tenderness behind it, caught her completely off guard.
"I'm sorry," he said, "if I hurt you in any way. Nietszchean women are generally of hardier stock, and I perhaps wasn't as careful as I could have been, caught up in the...moment."
"Um..." Beka said intelligently. What was she supposed to say to him? What did you say on the "morning after" to someone who had been your friend, your compatriot, sometimes your adversary, but you never thought would be your lover? Then she frowned suddenly, aware of a dull throbbing pain that definitely should not have been a side effect of sex. She lifted tentative fingers to her shoulder. "Did you...did you bite me last night?"
Tyr had the grace to look embarrassed. "Ah, yes. I was referring, in part, to that. As a race, we heal faster, better, and easier than you, and sometimes during moments of passion we forget ourselves." He barely paused before adding, "You marked me as well, you know."
She'd opened her mouth to blister him, pleased to have something to get angry about and put everything back the way it should be, but his words took the wind out of her. She faltered. "I...did?"
He nodded, gesturing toward his back. "Your nails - though perhaps I could better term them claws. Several times, actually. I will heal the cuts faster than you will my teeth, however, and for that I am sorry." His hand - the same hand that had brushed her hair behind her ear -- started tracing small circles over her shoulder lightly. It made goosebumps rise to her flesh. He rolled up onto his side, effectively leaning over her, and asked, "Are you angry with me for my enthusiasm, Beka? For the control you take from me?"
He was trying to put the blame back on her? The nerve! At least she could attribute the sudden pounding of her heart to outrage. It had nothing to do with his proximity, or the fact that he was touching her. Right. She was angry, that was it. She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of him, and suddenly found herself kissing him instead.
Her arms wrapped around him of their own accord, it seemed, an emotion she couldn't quite identify burning away the brief, defensive flash of anger. He rolled onto his back pulling her with him, so that she was sprawled half over him, and with a sudden flash of insight, Beka had to applaud his forethought. She could hardly blame him for taking control of the situation if she could pull away any time she wanted to. And she didn't really want to. Yet she did anyway, just enough to stop the kiss and look into his eyes. What did this mean? Where did this leave them? What about all of his stupid inhibitions over human women? She wanted to ask all of that, but didn't. Not yet.
"No," she said softly, instead. "I don't blame you, Tyr. It takes two people to make the decision to do what we did last night." She avoided any labeling words to describe it, like making love or, heaven forbid, mating, and sex felt too inadequate to describe it, "and I was definitely one of the two. I don't have any regrets if you don't."
He smiled, his hands tightening briefly around her waist before suddenly flipping her over, and beneath him. "No," he said, tracing a finger down her face before leaning down to kiss her again. "No regrets." On to Part 11