Disclaimer: obviously none of the characters or specifics belong to me.
Beka watched Trance and Harper, their heads bent together over some incomprehensible stream of numbers and symbols that, frankly, looked like little more than a haphazard jumble to her. She shifted from foot to foot, paced across Harper's crowded work area, and sat gingerly on a semi-clear space of countertop for about half a second. Restless, feeling useless and a little foolish, she popped back up again almost immediately and paced back to her original position. She resisted the urge to chew at one of her thumb nails.
"Look," said Harper, pointing at something in the stream of numbers that Beka couldn't quite see. "It's right here. That's the divergence we have to worry about. We hit anything past that juncture in the stream, and we get nothing but a big bang with no pay off. Theoretically."
Trance was nodding thoughtfully, her own fingers tracing another set of numbers. "But look here. If we follow this probability, we have a much better chance of collapsing the stream, and not such a risk of failure."
Harper frowned, looking to where she pointed insistently, and blanched. He snatched the datapad out of her hands. "Yeah, if you want to blow us into millions of tiny pieces. Forget it, Trance. Too chancy. I like being one, gloriously alive Harper."
Trance crossed her arms and arched one elegant brow as she looked at him. "Harper, maybe you're forgetting that if we don't succeed in collapsing the slipstream and trapping that thing, we'll all be very dead anyway."
"So says you," Harper quipped. "I'm not so sure --" He stopped suddenly, turning to stare at Beka as she tried to peek over his shoulder at the datapad he'd taken from Trance. "Do you mind?" he asked testily. "No offense, Beka, but that's the fourth time you've interrupted our research."
Beka rocked back on her heels, slipping her thumbs through the belt loops of her pants. "Research?" she said skeptically. "All you've been doing for the past two hours is arguing. Dylan expects an answer, and the two of you aren't exactly coming up with anything viable, yet."
"Beka," Harper explained in patient tones, a bit condescending, "this is research. This is what happens when you run headlong into the realm of theory without following all of the usual precautionary steps. Trance and I are discussing the possibilities, but all you're doing is breathing down our necks and getting in the way."
"Harper's right, Beka," Trance added. "If you can't stay quiet and let us work, why don't you leave and let us get on with it. The sooner we can agree on a course of action, the sooner we can present our findings to Dylan."
Beka opened her mouth to argue - she didn't want to leave - but nothing came out. She couldn't think of any believable reason to make them let her stay, and truth be told, she was bored out of her mind. Still, if she left the "research team", she would be completely at loose ends. Nothing to do.
And that meant she had no good excuse to avoid Tyr.
* * *
Rommie stood alone in her quarters, and shivered uncontrollably. She didn't use these rooms often. She didn't require sleep as humans did, and so she spent most of her time on the command deck. She came here to change clothing, or bath the outer shell of this body. Sometimes she came here to think, like now, undisturbed by her crewmates.
"You're letting emotions contaminate your thinking again," holographic Rommie said disapprovingly from behind her. Rommie sighed. Undisturbed by most of her crewmates. The various extensions of herself seemed to think they could barge in anytime they wanted to.
"Just get out and leave me alone," she said without turning around. She couldn't stand the thought of looking at her hologram's smug, superior expression. She shivered again with cold, electronic circuits inside her avatar lowering the body's temperature, in response to the strange emotion that had settled heavily in her gut and made her feel nauseous. She was pretty sure Harper had described this one to her as `fear', once. She was so very afraid of being trapped again. Three centuries had been quite enough, thank-you. And then there was the other, stomach churning idea that instead of being trapped interminably, she would be destroyed, she and her frail, human crew. Dylan could die. And she could not allow that to happen.
"Dylan will die eventually, anyway, and leave us to another Captain. You know that."
Rommie whirled around, wishing suddenly, viciously, that she had something to throw at the hologram, for all the good it would do. Her hands clenched tightly into fists. "I told you to get out! I don't need any of your cold, untouchable logic right now!"
The hologram merely raised an eyebrow. While it did experience some of the emotion the avatar felt, it didn't suffer the same intensity. "My, my. Aren't we a bit out of control? Really, I think you should run a diagnostic on yourself, or disable the emotion circuits Harper never should have..."
Hologram Rommie broke off abruptly as the avatar picked up a datapad from the nearby nightstand and hurled it through her. It crashed against the door, breaking into a scattering of plas and microchips.
"Well," she said primly. "If you're going to be that way about it, I'll leave. But you should really give my suggestions some thought."
The hologram flickered out, and Rommie stared at the empty spot she'd occupied for a long moment, then down at the datapad she'd destroyed. She sank down onto her bed, burying her head in her hands as salt water leaked from her tear ducts and stung her eyes. Maybe her computerized self was right. Not having to experience the torment of emotion suddenly sounded like bliss.
When her door chimed a time later, she almost didn't answer. But whoever it was didn't politely leave, like they ought to. The door chimed again, and again, until she finally rose from the bed, wiping away the evidence of her tears.
"Come in."
It shouldn't have surprised her when the door slid open to reveal Dylan, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression one of gentle concern. Of course, the bitch had run and tattled on her. Sometimes, Rommie thought these multiple aspects of her personality were eventually going to drive her insane.
"Dylan," she said, forcing brightness into her voice, trying to shape her facial expression into one of polite query. "Did you need me for something? You only have to call, you know."
"Yes," he said, "I know, but that's not why I'm here. I, ah, can I come in?"
"Of course."
Bits of plas crunched under his boot as he took a step forward, and Rommie instantly felt her face heat up with embarrassment as he looked down at the mess she'd created. He looked up at her slowly, his face grave, and she stayed silent. What could she possibly say that would sound remotely reasonable? He continued into the room without saying anything, either, and crossed over to her. She looked away rather than meet his gaze. Dylan was far too discerning, and she didn't really feel like talking right now, truth be told, not even to him. Maybe especially not to him.
"Rommie," he said quietly, commandingly, and she found herself reluctantly looking up at him. It was involuntary. She couldn't refuse even an implied command from her Captain. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"
She looked into his clear blue eyes, and couldn't speak; she could feel her tear ducts trying to activate again. She just shook her head, lips pressed together, her arms going around herself so that her nails bit into flesh. She heard him sigh.
"Ok. I think I can guess what's going on. You're upset about the situation we're in. You're afraid of what might happen if we decide to go ahead with Trance's plan." He put his hands on her arms, gently. "It's ok to be afraid, Rommie. We all are, from time to time. You're new to all of this, as you've told me before. You have a harder time assimilating emotion, but believe me when I tell you, it's completely normal to be afraid of dying, or worse."
She shook her head again, grateful that at least the warmth from his hands seemed to be chasing away that stubborn chill that was plaguing her. "No," she said, tears she was powerless to control trickling down her face. "You don't understand." She laughed suddenly, bitterly. "How can you?"
Dylan frowned. He tried to keep his deepening concern from showing too badly as his hands tightened briefly on her arms. "Then why don't you explain it to me?"
Rommie looked down again, evading his gaze and pulling away from him. She turned around, presenting him with her back so that she wouldn't be tempted to look into his eyes again, to drown in their depths as she always, inevitably did, and spill out all of her fears, all of her secrets, all of her tangled emotions to him. She was almost more afraid of that than she was of anything else. What would he say? How would he react if he knew what she felt? She couldn't bear to know. What if she disgusted him?
"Rommie?" His voice was hesitant, as if even Dylan Hunt didn't know what to say, or how to proceed. She couldn't blame him, really. She'd never fallen apart on him before. Well, close, but not like this.
"It's nothing, Dylan," she said woodenly. "I'd just like some time in private, if you don't mind. I want - I want to be alone!"
He was silent for so long, that if she hadn't been able to hear his breathing, she wouldn't have known he was still in the room. She waited, desperately trying to keep her tears under control, to keep her back stiff and straight, to betray nothing to him of how precariously she was holding everything together. She knew she couldn't speak again without losing control. The damn electro-kinetic energy coursing through this body was making her tremble.
She heard him take a step, and then another, but not toward the door, toward her. "No," he said finally. "I don't think so." And his hands closed on her shoulders.
Rommie squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn't hold off the tears any longer. Sobs shuddered through her body, seeming to travel up from the depths within her, before escaping her lips in choking cries that she couldn't stop. She lifted a shaking hand to her lips, but that didn't stop them either. Tears streaked down her face as Dylan forced her to turn around, and wrapped his arms around her. He didn't say anything at all, just held her against him as she cried. For a moment, she let herself cling to him, her cheeks dampening the front of his uniform, his warmth again chasing away her chills. Her hands clutched at his arms as if for strength, and that was when it struck her. What was she doing? This was all wrong!
"No!" she said firmly through her tears, and used her strength to break away from him, to pull herself free of his touch before she embarrassed herself further. And she said something to him that she had never, not among all of her extensions of self, thought she would say to her Captain. "Damn you, Dylan! Why couldn't you just leave me alone? Why do you have to be so concerned, so damned caring? Just go away!"
If she'd had anything else handy, she'd have hurled it at him, too. She couldn't make out his expression through her watery eyes, but Rommie was sure he must be angry with her. She'd just yelled at him! Defied him, used obscenities, and broken just about every rule of etiquette between a ship and her Captain. She was horrified, but a part of her, a larger part than Rommie was willing to admit, felt relieved at the outpouring of emotion. How did humans manage it, day in and day out? Always feeling these turbulent things without showing it all of the time?
When he took a step toward her, she backed away. "Please don't." Her voice had gone from angry to pleading. If he touched her again, she knew it would be over. She'd tell him everything, explain how thoughts of him, of his death, of his feelings for her, of her feelings for him, tormented her every time she turned around. And she didn't want to do that.
"Rommie," said Dylan carefully, like a man trying to approach a dangerous, unpredictable adversary. She supposed that she fit that description at this moment. "Why won't you let me help you? Please, just tell me whatever has you this upset. I can help you work through it."
She wanted to laugh again, or cry, or maybe both. Wasn't this what humans called hysteria? She shook her head. "No, Dylan. You can't help me work through this." She choked back something that might have been another sob. "Believe me, you're the last person who can."
"I'm the last person, Rommie?" he repeated, his voice hurt, wounded. "I thought you trusted me."
She'd caused him pain. A dull ache filled her. How could she have done that?
"I'm sorry, Dylan, of course I trust you." The words spilled out in her sudden rush to erase whatever misery she'd caused him, her voice trembling and fervent. "I trust you more than I trust anyone, more than I've ever trusted anyone. I lo--" She broke off abruptly, biting down on the word before she could complete it and damn herself forever.
There was a long silence, and for once, even Rommie's access to her vast database failed to provide her with anything to fill it. She stared down at the floor. Did he guess? Did he know what she'd been about to say? Dread made heat wash through her body.
"Rommie," Dylan said gently, but firmly. "Look at me."
The compulsion to follow his command was strong, but she resisted. Lips pressed together, she hesitated, then shook her head.
"Rommie."
"No, Dylan," she said shakily. "Please."
She had an instant's warning, a flash of movement that she probably could have avoided if she'd been at the top of her game, but as a member of the High Guard, Dylan did have genetically enhanced reflexes, and Rommie was trying not to look at him. He was in front of her before she could back away, his hand on her chin and forcing her head up.
"Look at me," he repeated softly, and she did. The second her eyes met his, she couldn't look away. She was trapped by that gaze, frozen in place. He smiled, and stroked her cheek with his fingers, wiping away her tears. "I love you, too, you know," he said, and Rommie felt something painfully tight inside of her loosen.
"You...do?" she managed to ask, suffused with hope for the first time. She thought back to her conversation with Beka. Maybe the other woman had been right, after all.
"Of course I do," he said, still smiling. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Rommie chose that moment to seize the initiative.
She grabbed him and kissed him. She remembered kissing Gabriel for an instant, and the love she'd thought she'd felt for the other avatar. Now, she wasn't so sure. What she felt for Dylan was...different...and more, somehow. Dylan didn't react immediately. Rommie knew she'd caught him off guard, so she gave him a moment, savoring the feel of him, running her hands over his shoulders and down his back, tracing the taut muscles beneath his uniform. Then she moved her mouth against his, urging a response from him. If he loved her, surely... His hands closed over her arms, and she thought for one terrified instant that he was going to push her away. But he didn't. Suddenly, he was kissing her back, his lips moving, his tongue entangling with hers as his hands pulled her closer, tighter against him. It was hot, and wet, and slippery, and utterly delightful. It made Rommie yearn for more. Something delicious tightened in her gut as his fingers stroked her back, threaded through her hair to cup her head warmly as the intensity of the kiss deepened. She suddenly felt like her clothes were too tight, and entirely unnecessary.
Dylan loves me, she thought. And he wants me. She could feel the evidence of that clearly enough, pressed firmly against her thigh where he held her against him. She probably knew more about human anatomy and its function than any of her crewmates. So she understood why her nipples suddenly hardened against his chest, why she had the sudden, fierce urge to feel Dylan's skin naked and hot against hers, to feel him inside of her. Her nimble fingers were unbuttoning his uniform before her mind had made the decision to do so.
He pulled back slightly, and she heard herself make a sound of protest as she leaned into him, attempting to maintain the intimate contact between them. He stopped her with a single finger on her chin. His other hand still held her.
"Rommie," he said softly, his blue eyes darker than normal as he stared down at her. "This isn't...I can't...we shouldn't..." He floundered, and trailed off as she slipped a hand inside the open front of his uniform and traced circles lightly over his abdomen. She felt the muscles tighten beneath her hand, heard the quickly bit off curse as Dylan inhaled sharply. He closed his eyes. "I'm...I'm your Captain...and you're...you're..." Since he was holding himself away from kissing her again, Rommie simply leaned in to the expanse of chest she'd exposed, and laved her tongue over his already erect nipple. She felt him jerk in shock, felt the heat rise to his skin as his hands tightened on her. "We shouldn't be doing this," he said harshly, and then he groaned when she flicked her tongue back and forth over the nipple's sensitive tip.
Dylan didn't try to argue with her anymore after that. He grabbed her head in his hands and kissed her again, and she backed them toward the bed she'd never yet had occasion to use, stripping the rest of his jacket away as she did so. Her hands were busy at his belt while he removed her shirt, his mouth never leaving hers. When he sucked her lower lip between his and scraped it with his teeth, she felt it like jolts of electricity throughout her body. Then his hands were on her breasts, and her hips bucked against his of their own accord, rubbing against him as she moaned. Too much clothing, she thought, and tugged his pants down over his hips. He helped her to do it, replacing his hands with his mouth on her breast, and Rommie couldn't believe the feelings that shot through her with every tug of his mouth or swirl of his tongue. Beka had been right, everything about this was intense. Pleasure almost to the point of pain.
Dylan was moving his mouth down her body, now. It was hard to concentrate, hard to remember all of that information she'd read on human sexual relations. He'd started pulling the rest of her clothing from her body, and he followed its removal with his mouth, his tongue, and then his hands when they were free again. Rommie was trying to grasp hold of him again, to find something solid to hold onto, but couldn't seem to manage it amidst the feelings awash within her. His hands stroked her inner thighs apart, and then moved over her hips, before grasping them firmly as his head bent between her legs. She had a moment for all of the information she knew on oral sex to flash through her brain, and then his tongue was stroking her, thrusting, laving, his mouth tugging. Her hands scrabbled at the bed, found fistfuls of linen to grasp and hold onto as tension and a keen edge of pleasure built within her. She was whimpering, gasping, pleading, and then the pleasure simply broke inside of her, flooding her system with electro-kinetic energy of an intensity she'd never felt before. Her body shuddered with it as Dylan held her tightly, her breath sobbing from her lungs. The virtual representation of the act with Gabriel had felt nothing like this. Nothing, she decided in that moment, could compare to physical sharing.
"Dylan," she whispered as he glided up her body, covering her with his own. He kissed her again before she could say more. She could feel his erection lying warm against her thigh. She stroked his back with her fingertips and felt him shiver. Bending her knees, she wrapped her arms around him and suddenly rolled them over, so that he was lying beneath her. He broke off the kiss in surprise, and she smiled down at him.
"I've studied the act of human pleasure extensively," she explained, positioning herself correctly, and then slowly lowered herself onto him. He groaned, his body arching as he slid wetly into her. Rommie had a finer control over the musculature of her body than most humans did over their own. She tightened herself around him at specific intervals as she began a slow, steady rhythm above him. Dylan shuddered, his hands going to her hips and tightening convulsively as he thrust up into her.
"Rommie..."he said hoarsely. "God..."
He closed his eyes, and Rommie closed hers as well, concentrating on sensation and creating the best possible friction of pleasure between them. She could sense when he was about to orgasm, and deliberately changed the rhythm to prolong the feeling. She brought him just to the edge, but not yet over, twice before she suddenly found herself moving frantically, needfully, above him. She couldn't delay the building intensity anymore, not for him or herself. She could hear his breathing, rapid and harsh, and she opened her eyes so that she could watch his face. She wanted to see it come over him, to see the spasms of pleasure take him as they took her. And then suddenly it was happening. She tightened herself around him just as she felt it shudder through her body again, only more intensely, if possible, than before, and then Dylan's voice was saying her name over and over as his seed spilled within her, his body jerking in sharp spasms.
Rommie couldn't think of anything more beautiful in her entire existence. When she collapsed on top of him, sprawled over the hard, sweat slicked muscle of his torso, her eyes were leaking tears of love and joy. On to Part 13