Disclaimer: obviously none of the characters or specifics belong to me.
Read chapter 3 here.
Chapter 4
The Andromeda entered slipstream at 1100 hours that morning, and didn't come out again for more than ten hours. Rommie and Dylan had forced the issue, really, insisting that no amount of urgency in Trance's enigmatic request could possibly justify running Beka into the ground, and perhaps endangering everyone even more in the process. Beka had thought to slip a bit more time by them after most of the crew turned in for the night, but Rommie was ever diligent. At eight hours she started hinting that Beka should turn in, too. At nine she became more insistent, and at ten she threatened to wake up Dylan if Beka didn't stop.
Upon further consideration, Beka realized that Rommie was right. By the time she slid from the piloting seat and her feet touched the deck again, Beka was so stiff she wasn't sure she could walk. She was suddenly aware of aches and pains that had been dim at best while she was concentrating so hard on piloting. Her wrist was throbbing painfully in time with a raging headache, and her stomach was empty enough to make her dizzy and light headed. Ok, so maybe she should have taken more of a break like Dylan had wanted and Rommie had tried to suggest. Maybe burying herself in work wasn't the way to forget her grief over Twinkle, or to set aside her bruised pride over a certain cold and stuffy Nietszchean.
It wasn't her fault, after all, that Tyr was incapable of accepting a simple thank-you with grace. She'd done her best, swallowed her pride and thanked him for both his help and his silence. And he'd rudely dismissed it as inconsequential and turned his back on her. As if her feelings were of no more concern to him than the dirt scuff on his shoe.
It grated. Oh, how it grated. She'd managed to suppress the urge to try and throttle him with his own hair, but barely, and only because she thought her sprained wrist would be a liability in a physical confrontation - or so she told herself. How dare he treat her so dismissively?
"I thought we were friends," she muttered as she made her way from the bridge to the galley. "But friends give each other respect." And respect for her was obviously something Tyr wasn't burdened by.
"Get over it, Valentine," she ordered herself, muttering as the throbbing tempo of her headache increased in intensity. "Brooding right now is only making you more miserable."
What she needed was some aspirin and food. Something to ease the ache in her wrist and her head. There was nothing, she was sure after her attempt two nights ago, to ease the kind of pain that dwelt inside. Heart and pride would have to mend themselves over time. Twinkle wasn't the first loved one she'd lost, so grief was not unknown to her. And she would be damned before she ever thanked Tyr for anything, ever again.
By the time she actually got to the galley, her stomach was nauseous with the pain in her head. But she didn't want to take a painkiller of any kind without something in her system, so she managed to choke down a few bites of a sandwich before junking it, and she made herself a nice cup of tea to take to bed with her. It was chamomile, something Dylan had taught her was good for you when you felt bad. Another of his Old Earth remedies.
She was just starting to leave and head to her quarters, and her nice, soft bed, when the door slid open and a very sleepy Harper stood there, blinking at her with a disgruntled look on his face. He was holding a hypo syringe.
He held up his free hand before she could say anything.
"Don't even bother," he muttered. "Rommie woke me up from some very nice dreams so I could come and give your masochistic - er -- arm a hypo of pain killer. She says you pushed yourself too hard today." He snapped a concerned glare up at her face as he jabbed the thing none too gently into her arm. "Don't do that again, you hear me Valentine? Or are you too stupid and stubborn to listen? `Cause let me tell you, I'm not leaving my nice cozy bed and my deviant fantasies involving triplets and an anti grav room to come and hypo your ass again, understand? Good!" He shuffled out the door again before she could recover enough to thank him, muttering unintelligible things under his breath.
Her headache was already receding, thank God! She made the journey from the galley to her quarters without incident, and thanks to the pain med and the tea, was able to drop into a peaceful sleep almost immediately. At least some people on this ship are my friends, she thought sleepily, unable to set aside one last spurt of resentment towards Tyr just as consciousness fell away.
* * *
It didn't surprise her that no alarm woke her in the morning. Rommie, still playing the mother hen after yesterday, had turned it off. What did surprise her was Dylan's absolute refusal to allow her back into the slipstream chair after she did wake up. She'd even taken the time to wolf down a piece of toast and a cup of coffee, but that, apparently, didn't appease him. He glared her down on the bridge, arms folded in a forbidding manner across his chest.
"No, Beka. Not yet. Take some downtime today - until I say otherwise. When I feel you've recuperated enough, I'll give the go ahead for you to come back. Until then, I don't want to see you on this bridge."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he forestalled her yet again.
"We don't," he said with a raised eyebrow, "want a repeat of the last time you pushed yourself so hard, now do we?"
She had nothing to say to that. She's once resorted to a powerful and addictive drug to stay in the slipstream chair, and it was something neither she, nor the rest of the crew were likely to forget anytime soon. She should have remembered that yesterday. She couldn't help the indignant resentment in her tone when she responded to Dylan, however.
"That won't happen again, Dylan, you have my word."
He smiled.
"I know, Beka, but let's not push your reserves, ok? We've got a long journey ahead of us, and we don't know exactly what's waiting for us on the other side. Take it easy this morning, and this afternoon you can do a regular shift in slipstream."
She was left without an argument, and with nothing to occupy her morning. Once, she would have visited the gym, where she knew Tyr was working out. She missed their hours of sweat together, even if it did leave her with bruises. But now...she still felt hurt and uncomfortable after their conversation the previous day. Still, it seemed a bit too much like cowardice to stay away. And Beka Valentine was not a coward.
"Why the hell not?" she muttered finally. She made a quick stop by her quarters to change before heading to the gym. No way was she going to let Tyr get the best of her; she felt entirely up to kicking his ass today.
On to Part 5