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In the Stars
By : Bebe
Category: 1 through F > Andromeda
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In the Stars
Chapter Four: We're Able to Be Just You and Me Within These Walls

Beka dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to look semi-presentable before she left the Maru. With taking Command overnight, a nap had seemed like a good idea until she’d overslept. Now she was cutting it close to even be there on time, let alone getting something to eat on the way up. She only paused long enough to pick up a flexi Rommie had given her earlier that day for reading material— some detective story from her archives— before heading for the airlock.
She hadn’t even reached it before it cycled open. Expecting Harper, come to work on some of her ship’s never-ending repairs, she was surprised to find Tyr instead. “Uh, hi,” she said, taking an involuntary step back when he took his own forward. “I was actually just going to Command, so if it’s me you’re looking for you’re out of luck until tomorrow.” Not that she wouldn’t rather stay here with him, but she was supposed to be there.
“Am I?” he asked, with a hint of a smile, and before she could respond he was kissing her. Hot, and lustful, and immediately putting any thought of leaving out of her mind. She didn’t argue, reaching up to the back of his neck and holding him there. The intensity still surprised her, after more than a month, and that all he had to do was touch her to capture her attention. Right now he had all of it as he kissed her, his hands sliding to her ass and pulling her to him, and she knew she moaned a little when he scraped his teeth over her earlobe. He moved to her throat and she shivered, wanting him to keep going, pleased when his response was to lift her as if he were going to carry her to her bunk. She wrapped her legs around him, reached for his shoulder with her other hand, and dropped the flexi she’d forgotten she was holding.
The smack of the flexi hitting the deck plates distracted her from what Tyr was doing to her neck, and she unwound herself, forcing him to set her down rather than drop her. She pushed him back, not without a huge amount of reluctance on her part, once she was on her feet again. “Mm, wait, stop a second.” He did, but he had his thumbs just under the hem of her shirt, sweeping slowly over her stomach, and that plus the way he was looking at her almost destroyed any will she had to not let him keep going. “I can’t do this now, don’t tease me.”
“I wasn’t teasing.” He started to slide his hands up under her shirt, but she caught them before he got very far.
“No, Tyr.” She licked at her lips, wishing she had the time to see this through. “Keep it in mind for the morning? Unless you’re trying to make me late, in which case forget it.”
He shrugged, that one-sided gesture he made when he was trying to seem nonchalant. “Would you object?”
“To whatever you had in mind? Probably not. To you trying to get me fired from being the first officer? Yeah, I would.” She grinned, but he didn’t seem to take it as a joke, instead meeting her eyes very seriously. When he didn’t say anything, she pushed gently at his hands to get him to back up. He did, slowly, and once he’d given her some space and let go she said, “Tomorrow, okay?” She stretched up to kiss him, a quick promise rather than the encouragement she wanted to give him, and scooped the flexi off the grating on her way off the ship.
The interlude had cost her, and she grimaced at the time once she made it to Command, a couple of protein bars from the mess tucked into her pockets in lieu of an actual meal and a thermal mug of coffee still so hot it would scald her to drink it yet in her hand. Dylan was still waiting with a frown when she speed-walked down the ramp.
“Beka—“
“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I overslept, it won’t happen again.” She slung herself into the pilot’s chair, realizing too late that she’d just sat on her ersatz dinner.
He looked like he was tempted to say more, but thankfully he spared her the lecture. “See that it doesn’t. Let me know if anything comes up.”
“Of course.” She didn’t think anything would, given that they were sitting in orbit around a peaceful planet so Trance could attend a medical botany conference on the surface, but she would have agreed to almost anything to make sure he didn’t change his mind about giving her the speech on being military-ready even though they weren’t military. She’d only heard it a couple of times, but that was enough. It was with relief that she waved him off Command.
“Anything else I should know about, Rommie?” she asked once he was well and truly gone, wiggling enough to free the squashed bars. “Or are we just watching the planet turn for the night?”
“Just watching the planet turn,” was the immediate response. The front screen flickered to show Rommie on one panel and a list on another, framing the view of the planet’s dayside below them. “But there’s always work to do from here if you get bored.” She nodded at the lines of script opposite.
“I might take you up on that.” She bit off some of the protein bar, regretting briefly that she hadn’t had the time for an actual meal. She really regretted the bar a moment later, coughing when it nearly went down the wrong tube at Rommie’s question.
“What did Tyr want from you that made you late?”
As soon as she’d cleared out the crumbs, she lied, trying for nonchalance. “Complaining about sitting here for Trance’s conference. I’m not sure why he decided to right then unless he was just trying to make me look bad.”
“Hm.” Rommie flickered out again, leaving the list still up on the other panel. Beka stared at it as she chewed, but wasn’t really seeing it.
Why had Tyr come just then? They were all usually aware of who was on Command when, so he probably would have known she was leaving soon if she had still been there at all. She almost wished now that she’d asked Rommie whether he’d asked to find her or if it had just been happenstance that he’d met up with her, but wasn’t about to call her back now and make her curious. After all, it wouldn’t take much for the ship’s AI to be able to determine just how often they’d been closeted on the Maru or in crew quarters with privacy on, and Beka didn’t know how much of that she would be obliged or willing to tell Dylan.
It was unlikely but not unreasonable that he’d have not realized she had Command that night or just misjudged how much longer she’d be onboard, but then it was odd that he’d not have accepted “later” as an answer more easily. He did at other times, which made the whole thing that much odder. The week before he’d come onto the Maru in search of her for physical reasons and she’d been working on a glitch in the cargo pod doors; he’d not only not blinked at her telling him not then, he’d helped her with the fix, and been amply rewarded for his assistance afterward.
Some kind of underhanded plan with her ship? One where he’d assumed she’d be off long before and had to pivot when he realized she was still there. But why come right as she was leaving instead of an hour or two later, when he could be reasonably assured that she wasn’t there? The only reason she could see for that would be to throw her off intentionally, especially if it had the added bonus of her being further rattled by Dylan lecturing her. That crack she’d made about him getting her fired that he hadn’t seem entertained by, the one she’d made to Rommie about him making her look bad, suddenly didn’t seem like such a joke in that light. He could play the long game, she thought, and maybe all of this was him trying to unbalance her enough to make it easy for him to sabotage her ship— unlikely as that might be when he was routinely aboard it— or set in place something that would let him hijack it. Or could he be planting something incriminating? Maybe he was trying to make her look unbalanced enough that Dylan would trust her less, doubt her judgment more, consult Tyr first. God knew he hadn’t been averse to a little mutiny right after they first signed on, so was it so unlikely he’d decided that she was a threat or an obstacle best gotten rid of?
One possibility she could probably rule out easily. A quick scan of the Maru determined no one aboard and no obvious signs of tampering. Checking the cameras in the bay was next, and she skipped to when she’d left, jogging to make up for lost time. If he’d stayed much longer… But no. He’d followed a minute afterward, probably just long enough to cool his blood after heating both of theirs up. So not likely to be sabotage this time. Which took her back to him trying to undermine her, either directly or by discrediting her in front of the others or both.
She sighed, considering the last six weeks in that light. He’d sworn that their initial encounter had been unplanned and she’d believed him. Why wouldn’t she? And there’d been no obvious indication that he was plotting anything more than your average Nietzschean would. If anything, when it was just the two of them, he’d been downright nice. Unless that was the part that she should be suspicious of? It had never seemed reluctant or feigned in the moment, and there was no obvious gain except for what she was willing to do privately. They’d managed to keep it quiet and out of sight enough that no one had said anything to her, so she doubted that her behavior elsewhere would have changed enough to favor him. Or was his stunt today intended to force her hand because being nice wasn’t yielding the results he wanted? She let her head thud back against the chair. She hated having to think this about someone she’d slowly begun to believe was on her side, but what else could it be?
If she were to take it at face value, sure, maybe he’d just been hoping for something quick before she was on Command for the night, or doing it to give her something to think about for the next few hours. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d said or done something as a promise for later, though it was usually more subtle than that. It had just been poor timing. And the way he’d been behaving lately, well, why not? She was generally pretty kindly disposed to someone who was giving her regular orgasms, after all, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he were to say that her behavior towards him in private had changed, as well. Give and take was normal. Helping her with repairs? His life was just as much at risk as hers if something broke or didn’t work properly, and if he could make the process faster so they had more time for other things, why wouldn’t he? There was absolutely nothing solid to say that all of this wasn’t completely innocent rather than a devious plot.
Outside of the fact that she’d been around long enough to know to be suspicious of a seemingly-innocent Nietzschean.
And she had to be suspicious. Because Nietzschean, because strange behavior, because of a lot of past history telling her that just when things seemed to be going smoothly was when she had better start checking behind her for the knife. But though she knew all that? She didn’t want to. She wanted to enjoy everything they were doing, even if she couldn’t convince him to relax his limit on penetration. She wanted to appreciate the barely-there touches and softly-spoken words in the corridors, ones that wouldn’t seem unusual between crew but for what went on elsewhere. She wanted to take as a given the helping hand on her ship. She wanted one thing in her life to be as uncomplicated as possible. But she couldn’t, because nothing on the Andromeda was uncomplicated, her relationship with a dispossessed Nietzschean included. What relationship they had, anyway, if she could call it that. Her routine exchange of sexual favors? And thinking about that was distracting in itself, especially with that little encounter tonight and wondering what precisely he’d had in mind before she pushed him away.
She groaned and crumpled up the empty wrappers, realizing that she’d be thinking in circles soon at this rate. Trust him or not, she’d have to say something about tonight when she saw him next, especially after basically promising at least a physical follow-up in the morning. And she’d have to figure out what she was saying beforehand, because if he really started to distract her immediately she probably wouldn’t be saying anything too coherent for a while.
Trying not to think about it, she closed her eyes. Coffee. Drink some of the coffee, which had probably cooled enough now, and shake out the cobwebs. Then figure out a plan. Maybe intersperse it with a little of Rommie’s list to keep herself from going crazy. But when she opened her eyes, there were suddenly a lot more sensor signatures popping up on the panel showing Andromeda’s position. “Uh, Rommie, are you seeing this?”
“Slipportals,” she announced. “And several small craft, possibly escape pods. Calling Dylan to Command.”
“Thanks. Can you try contacting them or are they too far out?” Beka started bringing up the PSL engines and strapping herself in.
“I can send a request for identification, but— They’re escape pods,” she announced preemptively, cutting herself off. “Or at least small craft being used as escape pods. I’m getting emergency signals.”
Heavy footfalls announced Dylan’s arrival. He must have run up, to get up that quickly. “Notify the planet that there are pods incoming,” he ordered, crossing behind Beka to the captain’s station. “Do we know where they’re coming from and why?”
“Signals indicate a pleasure cruiser, the Starry Night. The coordinates attached to the pods’ signals indicate a last known position in the Celestia system. One of the craft is sending out an additional signal, audio only.”
The sound wasn’t the best, lots of background noise on a low-quality system, but it was clear enough. “—a bomb onboard. One hundred and fifty passengers and fifty crew were onboard at the time of the explosion, with an unknown number killed. Survivors were still being loaded as we launched and will require medical attention. This is the public relations officer for the Starry Night. The ship was crippled by a bomb onboard. One hundred and–”
“The message appears to be repeating, but it’s unclear if it’s recorded or live,” Rommie said, her android form coming into Command beside Harper. “I’m monitoring for changes.”
“Let me know if anything does.” Dylan frowned. “Two hundred people. How many are in this system?”
The AI answered this time. “Thirteen craft so far, but I’m detecting more slipstream events. Between five and ten life signs per vessel. Dylan, some of them are damaged.”
“Right. Anything from the planet?”
Harper had taken the first officer station. “The planet’s sending rescue ships, should be ready to catch them by the time they get near the moons in a few minutes. Uh, some of them are really damaged, I’m surprised they made it through slipstream. They’ll hold in the atmosphere, but that’s about it.”
“How did they even do it?” Beka asked. “They can’t all have pilots.”
“They don’t,” Harper answered immediately. “Some of them are towed by the others, sort of, though I’m not sure why they’re forming their own portals at this end. Something about the way they’re being opened on the other end, maybe by the cruiser? Or the tow signal deteriorating? Might even be a result of some of the damage to any of the ships, depending on if it hit the core and how, but I can’t tell unless I get a better look.”
“Oh, good. Inexplicable weirdness and people in distress. We’re going to go charging right on in, aren’t we?” She still started figuring out how to get to the nearest place to open their own portal without affecting either the planet or the pods.
“But of course.” Dylan gestured her on. “To the Celestia system, as soon as we let Trance know that we’ll be back to get her.”
Rommie looked smug. “Already done.”
The Celestia system was one of the shortest hops possible, probably why the pods were being routed that way. It took longer to get to the portal than to actually make the jump, so by the time Beka was riding the strings Tyr had taken Harper’s place on Command and the engineer had been sent down with Rommie to one of the landing bays and Rev to Med deck to prep for ships that had already been too damaged to make it to slipstream.
“Have you considered,” Tyr remarked to Dylan, “that this is almost certainly a trap?” Beka was kind of impressed at how casual he managed to be about it, between his own attitude toward survival and the way the ship was twisting.
“Yes, which is why I want point defense ready to go as soon as possible.”
Tyr didn’t respond to that, so Beka assumed he was working on it. He’d probably been working on it before he’d even said anything to Dylan, really, but it wasn’t like the occasional verbal sparring for the sake of verbal sparring was beneath the two of them.
The precaution was justified, no matter whose idea it was. Beka jerked them out of the way of the first missile but not the second, and was glad for the harness when she was flung against it rather than out of her chair. She recovered in enough time to avoid the third. “Didn’t anyone tell them it’s rude to shoot at the people coming to rescue you?”
“Returning fire,” Tyr announced. He and Dylan had both managed to stay upright at their stations.
“Good, keep going that. Beka, you too. Harper! Change of plan, figure out what’s being damaged here and now rather than on the pods.”
“Right, boss.”
“It’s Restorians,” Andromeda informed them. “Four ships flanking the Starry Night.”
“Great, my favorite terrorists,” Dylan muttered.
Beka swung around again, trying to avoid the next volley but aiming them back toward the slipportal in the process. “Does that mean we can bravely run away and come back with more firepower? Given that we’re outnum—” At least two missiles hit that time, rocking the ship first one way and then another, sending showers of sparks from two panels.
Dylan picked himself up. “Yes, if we can get that far. Take us back. Rommie, try to see if there’s anyone left to rescue aboard or on the pods, if you can, before so we’re better prepared for coming back.”
“Aye, aye,” Beka made speed.
“I suggest we send out drones to draw some of their fire or at least intercept their missiles,” Tyr said, still hanging on to his console. “Giving them more targets may help confuse them enough for us to get out.”
“I like that idea. Do it.”
“I’m not finding any indications of other survivors. I suspect they’re dead if they couldn’t get to slipstream.” The mainframe’s voice dripped distaste, presumably at the tactics.
“Right.”
Dylan might have been about to say more, but just as Beka started up the slipstream drive another missile hit and something exploded off to her right, sending shards spinning towards her. One piece seared a line across her temple. “Ah!”
“Beka?” Tyr’s voice.
She’d closed her eyes. She forced herself to open them again. “I’m fine, I’m okay,” and she ignored the blood trickling down her forehead. “Ow. I’m okay.” She closed one eye again as some of the blood dripped. She could feel the strings reaching for the ship, she wasn’t going to stop now.
“No, you’re not okay, you’re—”
“Incoming!” Andromeda’s alert barely beat the impact, the next volley crashing into them as they entered slipstream, the ship jarring against the strings and Beka fighting to regain control over it.
An alarm went off before she could but she ignored it as long as Andromeda kept responding. And it did, enough for her to stabilize them, enough for her to get them through the short but rocky ride. They’d barely dropped back into normal space when Dylan was demanding answers. “Rommie, Harper, how are we doing? Any pursuers?”
“No ships appear to have followed us.”
“We’re okay down here,” Harper announced. “We’ve got a lot of damage, though. Nothing crippling, but one small hull breach Rommie’s already sealed off plus a lot of blown circuits and enough scratches and dents that we’re not getting our security deposit back. That last hit did the most damage, I think. We can still run or fight if we have to, but I’d rather not have to.”
“Right, send me a full list if you can. Go ahead and get started on the big stuff. Rommie, give him a hand. Beka?”
“Yeah?” Her forehead hurt, even if it was as minor as she thought, and she was pretty sure she was getting blood on the pilot’s chair as she unfastened the straps. She’d had to give them a little distance from the slipportal just in case, though.
“How are you?”
“Could use a bandaid.” At least she hoped that was all she needed.
“Go to Med deck and have Rev take a look at it.” Dylan had already grabbed one of the emergency kits and was pulling something out— gauze, she realized, when he came over to her and pressed it to her cut. She hissed involuntarily when it stung almost as much as the initial slice. At least she hadn’t seen it coming to anticipate it, the blood that had already dripped down that eyelid making opening that one awkward. “I want to make sure it’s not worse than it looks.” Beka nodded and promptly regretted it, reaching up to hold the gauze in place herself.
“I’ll walk her down,” Tyr volunteered. She couldn’t see him with how she was standing, but he sounded more subdued than usual.
“No, I want you working on repairs immediately. Go see what Harper needs you on. I’ll get Beka down to Rev and then come back up and start on them here. And, Tyr? We’ll be talking about you abandoning your post later.”
“It will be a fascinating conversation, I’m sure.” Tyr left Command after delivering the dry statement.
Once his footsteps had faded, Beka said, “Abandoning his post?” She stepped over some debris. It might even have been part of what hit her. “When did he do that?” Dylan took her arm and guided her around another chunk on her blind side. “Thanks.”
“Right before those missiles he was supposed to be watching for hit us, after you…” He gestured to his own head.
“Huh. Too busy lecturing me to save his own skin? Doesn’t sound like Tyr.”
“No, it doesn’t. Any ideas?” He sounded like he was honestly curious rather than digging.
“Nope. Probably something self-serving we’ll find out about later.” Although she wondered. Worried about her? Maybe? But enough to put himself at risk was unlikely.
“Probably.”
Rev was waiting by the time they got to Med deck. The gauze felt pretty well soaked with blood at that point, but she thought it might be slowing down, enough that she really could get away with being cleaned up and getting a bandage. Dylan nonetheless told Rev, “Don’t send her back to repairs unless you’re sure she’s fine.”
“She’s standing right here,” Beka grumbled, but she appreciated the concern anyway.
“Just want my first officer okay.” He gave her a quick smile and was off.
“I must say,” Rev said, checking her over, “I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”
“Yeah. I’d say you should see the other guy, except we didn’t.”
“No, that was not one of our stronger showings.” Rev set down the scanner. “It appears you only need a fresh dressing. I’ll take care of that for you.”

Most of the repairs were tedious. Unsurprising, after months of the same repairs after so many battles. Also unsurprising was Tyr’s assignment to the less tedious task of repairing the hull breach, given the strength needed for moving the plating necessary. Harper would do the finer details later. That, at least, required a degree of attention that precluded meditating involuntarily on any guilt from a few hours before. Otherwise, hours of one cramped conduit and burned-out circuit after another wore on him quickly, and it was a relief to hear Harper say that they were “patched up” enough to return to Trance and the survivors of the Starry Night and for Dylan to order everyone to get some rest before they did the jump back, with the Magog to keep watch in the meantime for sudden company. Accordingly Tyr finished his task and returned to his quarters.
He hesitated when he neared the door to Beka’s quarters on the way, wondering at her condition. While he’d heard her chatter with Harper over the ship’s systems, insisting she was not badly hurt, he wouldn’t be surprised if she were downplaying any injury for the boy’s sake. But no. If she’d been seriously hurt she would have been on Med deck rather than replacing and recalibrating pieces of the ship, and Dylan would have insisted on them returning for help before anything else. He was tempted to stop and check with her, but there was no guarantee she would even be in her quarters rather than the Maru. So comforting himself, though why he wanted to comfort he chose not to examine, he passed by her door for his, and for a fast shower and sleep full of dreams he couldn’t recall when he woke again.
It was after the slipstream jump that morning that someone asked for access at his door, and it was with equal discomfort at the thought of it being Dylan or Beka he answered. At least Dylan he had answers for, but for Beka he had none adequate. Nonetheless he let her in. Immediately his eyes went to her forehead, to the bulky patch of healing gel above one eyebrow. It was half hidden, her curls falling over it in unintentional concealment, and he brushed them away gently. “It looks worse than it is,” she said. “Keep it on and dry for a few more hours and I won’t even have a scar.” He nodded in acknowledgement, then caught her jaw in his hands, kissed her carefully, with no desire to further injure unseen bruises. She let him, but covered his hands with hers as if to keep him from additional liberties.
When he pulled back, she met his gaze, studying him. The faint frown concerned him, twisted his stomach, and he reminded himself that she was not someone he required approval from no matter the impulses that came with her presence. Suppressing the urge to appease her was still difficult even with that in mind, and in an attempt to mollify them both he bent his head to kiss her again. He didn’t even try to push beyond that same cautious touch, when he didn’t know the cause of her displeasure.
Again she accepted the kiss but didn’t press for more. It was perhaps related that she was not reacting as he was accustomed to; her heartbeat was reassuringly but curiously steady, and she broke the kiss reluctantly but definitively, still with that same frown. “What is it?” he asked finally, unsure beyond the myriad of possibilities.
“I don’t know.”
“About what?”
“You.” She hesitated, but before he could ask she continued. “I don’t know about you. You don’t— You’re not doing what I expect.”
“Of course.” That was her concern? “Predictability, stagnation, they inhibit survival.”
“No, I mean…” Her frown deepened and she pulled his hands away from her face, looking down at them as she held them. “I mean with us. Inasmuch as there is an us. You’ve been nice.”
“Nice,” he echoed, perplexed. She was concerned that he was “nice”? He’d been referred to as many things, but nice had never been among them.
“Nice. Considerate, thoughtful. It’s not what I expected.”
“You didn’t expect me to be considerate.” The twist was worse, hotter. “You expect me to treat you poorly?”
“No? Or at least I’m not sure what I expect. I haven’t…” Beka looked as if she were choosing her words exceedingly carefully. He didn’t know if it was in response to his flash of anger or something else nothing to do with him at all, given that she still held his hands in hers. It may not have been, with her next words. “I’ve had some lousy guys in the past, and Nietzscheans don’t really have the best reputation of interspecies harmony. And we don’t exactly have a rulebook here. But you’ve been— When it’s just us, you’ve been pretty good to me. And that’s not a problem, I’m fine with it, more than fine, but then there’s yesterday.”
“Yesterday.” Parroting, sounding foolish even to his own ears, but this conversation was not at all what he had thought to hear, had been anticipating an attack for trying to convince her out of the pilot’s chair after her injury rather than this meandering meditation.
“Yesterday. You’ve been great and careful and everything, then yesterday you weren’t. You weren’t listening, and you made me late, which is not the way to go if you don’t want anyone to know, and you made me look bad to Dylan. And then you were trying to get me out of the chair when even on my worst day I’m a better pilot than anyone else on this ship on their best, and over a scratch.”
“If you’d had a head injury—”
“Which I didn’t. And if you’d given me half a minute you’d have seen that and you know it.” She pulled her hands out of his, crossed her arms, and he immediately regretted the loss of her touch. But she kept going, kept airing the grievance he had not entirely foreseen, and he didn’t have the chance to say or do anything. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do anymore. I thought it was just sex, and then you were acting like that, and now it feels like you’re trying to undermine me and make me look incompetent. Is that what this is? Are you just trying to keep me off-balance enough to use me as a stepping stone? Or am I just somebody you’re playing with, so you mess with the Human and get off at the same time?”
“No!” Instant, gut-deep response, something she couldn’t doubt. The truth. He pushed his braids back from his face in frustration at the path she’d gone down, the image she’d painted of him. “No,” he repeated, more calmly. “You’re not a stepping stone or an adversary, at least not anymore. You were never a plaything. I have never been less than honest with you about this.”
She sighed. He recognized the frustration in it, the same that had been riding him, the not knowing and the lack of surety in wanting to know at all. “So I’m not a toy or a tool. Then what am I now? I don’t understand what you’re doing any other way, it doesn’t make sense.” She seemed to expect him to provide answers he didn’t even have himself.
Tyr turned away, trying to sort through all that he could and could not say. “I—” he started, then paused. How could he narrow it all down, encompass his own conflicting urges and actions? At last all he could offer was a single statement, all that had given him both hesitation and impetus of late. “You’re not my wife.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
And a quip. No, being Human she couldn’t begin to understand without context. He sat heavily in the chair, rested his head on his hand, beckoned her with the other. She did come, albeit with reluctance and still with distrust writ large in her eyes, and let him take her hand again. “If you were Nietzschean,” he said slowly, unsure of how she would respond, “you would be my wife. You would have chosen me, weeks ago, when we were first together.” He hadn’t forgotten her urging him on, and judging by the sudden flush in her cheeks she hadn’t either. “I would be careful to respect my wife, to not overstep. To give her what she needed and wanted.” He risked a look to see her nodding, slowly and still unsure. He continued, “But I would also expect her to place us at a higher priority than almost anything else, as would I.”
“Except survival,” Beka interjected quietly.
“Except survival,” he agreed. “And of course our children.” He could feel her tense again at that, but kept going as long as she was listening. “If you were Nietzschean, and my wife, I would expect you to be pregnant soon if you weren’t already. If you were or could be, I would be… protective. Inclined to be concerned about your health as well as the child’s.”
“Freaking out over a scrape if you weren’t sure it was just a scrape.”
“Precisely.” She sighed at that, and he gave her a moment before he went on. “You are not Nietzschean. You are not my wife. It is… extremely unlikely… for you to be carrying my child. But in Nietzschean culture, for my people? That is my frame of reference for what we do. And while I try to adjust to our circumstances, I don’t always,” he weighed his next words and settled for hers, “behave how you would expect.”
She bit her lip, still studying him, and he waited. He had nothing more to offer, and she could make what she would of what he had already. But she did not seem angry anymore, and kept her hand in his. He did not wish to examine too closely why that felt important. “If you were Human,” she said finally, slowly, as if she were feeling out the words as she spoke them, “you wouldn’t be my husband. You’d be— I don’t know what you’d be. A port of call, if you weren’t on the ship, someone I visited for sex when we were in the same place, maybe for dinner or something if we really hit it off. Maybe a boyfriend, maybe someone I had feelings for, but not married to or having a baby with. You might be part of my crew if you were able to travel with us, an extra hand for the work and to be with me, but… I might want you to respect me, to care for me, but I don’t know that I’d expect to be your first priority. I haven’t been anyone’s, for a long time. I don’t know that you would be mine, if you were Human.
“But you’re not Human, and I’m not Nietzschean. You’re not my boyfriend or husband. You’re not even my crew, in that sense.”
“So what am I?”
“I don’t know. The guy I mess around with for some reason.”
And that, surprisingly, stung. After years of rejection by both Nietzscheans and Humans, that would not have been a comment that he would have expected as even a minor hurt to his pride, and yet. She sounded as unsure as he felt, still, both of them unable to make sense of everything between them even after a month and a half. “For some reason?” he repeated, sitting upright. He caught her hip with his newly freed hand, pulled her to stand between his knees. “I would have thought by now you’d have a few reasons.” He let her hear the playfulness in his voice, the hint that he could lighten her mood if she let him. He tilted his head back so he could see her better.
She brushed his braids back over his shoulder, still serious. When he turned to kiss her fingers, she said, “I can think of a few reasons to keep doing it. I just… still don’t know about us. We don’t work anywhere else. We don’t even really work here.”
“Here?” He kissed her wrist. Now her pulse was a little faster, closer to what he expected from her with proximity.
“Here. On the ship. Here,” she gestured, pulling her hands free to encompass his quarters, “on the Maru, we work, but that’s physical. Out of bed we barely work, look at last night. Off the Andromeda? Not at all.”
“Did you think it would?” He’d resettled his hands at her waist and was relieved that she didn’t push him away. Even in her confusion she welcomed his touch.
“No, I just— I don’t know.” She rested her own hands at his shoulders. “I can deal with everything in here, but you need to ease up out there or you’ll have everyone wondering.”
“I’ll try.” Yesterday, the night before had been an error. He’d been too self-indulgent, too relaxed, and if it happened again he’d need to reconsider this. If he were to act this way with Freya, were she here, it would be appropriate and Freya would understand, but with Beka? The Human woman who could not be his wife? No. He didn’t want to give her up regardless, did not want to sacrifice her physical presence or the moments of humor and closeness when they were alone. He was greedy, wanting both to restore the Kodiak and to have what he could of Beka. “It’s not… easy,” he added, both in response to his own thoughts and her request.
“It’s never easy?” And quoting Dylan, she seemed entertained, if briefly. “No, it isn’t, but I still like it.” Smoothly, as if there were no discord between them at all, she moved to sit astride him, her thighs warm against his. “Want to give me more to like?” She leaned to kiss him and he met her gladly, opening to her urging and feeling her respond. Whatever lingering confusion or issue, she was apparently willing to set it aside for his vow to hew more closely to their original agreement. Slowly, giving her time to stop him, he inched up the bottom edge of her shirt; she broke the kiss to pull it off over her head, dropping it to the floor before twisting to remove the bra underneath as well. It met the same fate as the shirt, and with a mischievous smile she pulled his hands to her bare breasts before she kissed him again.
He approved. With that encouragement he pressed her nipples between his fingers, rolled them against his thumb until she was making that almost-moan as she kissed him and her smell strengthened around them at the caress. He’d just moved from her mouth to her neck, sucking at the skin just under her ear as she dug her nails into his shoulders, when the door access sounded.
They both froze as Dylan said through the door, “Tyr, I believe we agreed to talk later?”
Beka spat a choice word as she shot to her feet, scooping up her shed clothes and making a beeline for the bathroom, and Tyr shifted in his seat, trying to conceal his own physical evidence and attempting to sound bored rather than irritated at the interruption as he granted Dylan access. He was not, after all, supposed to be doing anything for which interrupting would be a problem, and he had been warned of the discussion yesterday. By the time the captain stepped through, Tyr had schooled his expression to neutral and there was no sign of Beka having ever darkened the door of his quarters. He waited.
“So,” Dylan started, “care to tell me why those last few missiles damaged my ship?”
Tyr shrugged. “They got through our defenses.”
“Yes, the defenses you were supposed to be in charge of. Except you weren’t there. Why?”
“I had stepped away. Which you are no doubt going to demand why I had.” He tilted his head, aiming to look mostly-inoffensively curious. “Did you not consider that your pilot had a head injury and may have had impaired judgment?”
Dylan seemed irritated himself at the question. “I already had. I needed you to watch our back while I made sure Beka was good to pilot. You left your post, against orders, to deal with a situation I was already in charge of and left us open to a hull breach.”
“Did you want someone with a possible concussion making decisions in slipstream? We’d do no good for your Commonwealth if we were lost for weeks or months and unable to get out. We were already going into it and were not over-endowed with time to consider her health.”
“The difference is that we can get out of slipstream once we switch the pilot in the chair, Tyr. We can’t replace our core or a lot of other parts once we’re flying.” He looked frustrated, but that changed to actual anger at the response.
“And if we avoid obvious traps, we’re less likely to get shot at, as well.” Before Dylan could respond, Tyr continued, trying to appease him enough to convince him that Tyr had seen the error of his behavior and get him to leave. “What do you intend for me to say? At that moment Captain Valentine being impaired seemed to be a greater threat to our survival than a few missiles chasing us as we retreated into slipstream. I apparently gauged the greater threat incorrectly. What else is left?”
Dylan still looked stormy, but not as much as at the comment about traps. Good. “I thought we’d settled who was in charge during battle months ago. Should I be worried?”
“No.” Blunt, but more words were probably unnecessary. Dylan would believe him or not. He couldn’t believe Tyr wouldn’t be worried about survival, after all, and Tyr himself was wary of saying much more and betraying the woman in the bathroom or his relationship to her— or saying the wrong thing and inspiring her to betray herself.
Whether he believed him or not, Dylan apparently decided not to belabor the point. “Next time remember who’s giving the orders and don’t leave us exposed. We don’t need our resources going to patching up unnecessary battle damage again.”
“Understood.” He was tempted to point out again that they had had no need to be in the situation in the first place, but chose to let it go, especially as his knuckling under served to satisfy Dylan that his point had been made, as if repairing the hull breach hadn’t. The captain acknowledged it with a brief nod and left. Tyr stood as he cleared the room, called for privacy once he was out of earshot, despite the door still sliding closed, and got to the bathroom as the ship acknowledged the request.
Beka must have been of similar mind, as she met him at the threshold. He was momentarily distracted by her state of semi-undress, the same as when she went in. Her arms were folded precisely across her breasts in such a way as to conceal most of them without providing complete coverage. “So,” she said, leaning against the frame, “you were worried about my impaired judgement and that’s why you didn’t get those missiles?”
“Do you think he would have understood my concern any other way?” He pressed one hand to the wall, the better to hang over her. She did not appear moved in any way by the gesture, with the exception of her heart.
“Probably not. Did you think I wouldn’t get both reasons?”
“No, but my concern over your welfare was more germane to our discussion.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Why am I not sure you weren’t just telling me what I want to hear?”
“Because I wasn’t.” His eyes went involuntarily to the gel pad. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he refocused on her. “Now,” he pitched his voice lower, more intimately, “I believe we were continuing what we began last night?”
“What you began,” she corrected. She sidled closer anyway, uncrossing her arms to slide her hands under the chain mail at his waist. He let her push it up, straightening from the wall just enough to tug it over his head and let it fall behind him with a clatter, before putting his hands on either side of her shoulders and effectively caging her. A flimsy cage, but a cage nonetheless, enhanced by the way he let his braids fall to frame them both. She looked back up at him, unintimidated. “So what did you have in mind?”
“This.” He moved to kiss her, the simple press of lips quickly heating. The initial caress last night, the fear for her and the relief, the smell and touch of her now tumbled together and fired his need. She responded in kind, her mouth opening to us, her heart racing.
She must have been even more impatient, her hands sliding down his torso to tug at his waistband, opening and pushing it down enough to free him, and when he groaned at the first touch she broke the kiss to say, “And this?”
“And this,” he managed as her free hand wrapped around him. It was difficult to concentrate on what he intended to do as she took full advantage, quickly bringing him to a full erection. She was so very good at that…
He couldn’t prevent the shudder when, with her other hand, she cupped the sac underneath. Realizing how close he was to giving him, he caught her wrists before she could do more damage to his restraint. She pulled her second hand away but kept the first where it was, not moving for the moment. “What then?” and he answered her question with another kiss, one in which she participated wholeheartedly. He let go of her once he was sure she was reasonably distracted, her tongue to his and a moan escaping at that. Rather than place his hands back no the wall, he decided to return the favor she’d so recently tried to give him. With practiced ease he undid her own pants and slid one hand inside.
She was wet to the touch, and made a pleased hum when he slipped a finger over her clit. When he focused there, stroking and circling, she actually jerked her hips up to him, mutely encouraging more, as if the way she tightened her grip around him wasn’t enticement enough to continue. He didn’t give her exactly what she was asking for, though, gliding with that movement farther down to press into her. If she had been wet before, now she was liquid, burning heat, and her whole body shivered when he ground the heel of his hand against her mound and curled his fingers inside her. She moaned again, letting her head drop back against the wall, and he kept going, repeating the motion that seemed to please her so much.
He was surprised at how quickly she’d reached this point but not at all displeased, not with how he felt, and could only imagine it to be the same mix of reasons why he wanted her so badly right now. No matter why she’d closed her eyes, was making desperate little gasping sounds as she moved with his hand, trying to take him deeper, drive harder against him, and he was more than willing to oblige. He hadn’t intended for this specifically, but her urgency was contagious, not least because every time she rocked her hips her hand twisted on him and he was rapidly growing closer to his own orgasm as well, the dull ache gathering low in his abdomen and trying to demand his attention. It was all he could do to concentrate on her rather than give in and thrust into her hand to assuage his own desire, but he did not want to give her more reason to doubt him. He would ensure her pleasure first.
With that in mind he bent to kiss her again, imitating with her mouth what he was doing with her cunt— invading, possessing, taking— and was rewarded with her other hand coming up to curve around the back of his neck, holding him there with her nails. The aggressiveness was as unsurprising as it was arousing, the jolt of pain shooting through him, and he redoubled his efforts, curling his fingers to beckon her over the edge.
It worked. She pulled her mouth from his, her head bumping the wall as her whole body stiffened under him, her breath in quiet pants, and she rippled around his fingers over and over again, the pressure inside and out keeping the waves coming for a long time.
Finally she sagged back, her nails relaxing away; he wondered if there would be blood if he checked. But her eyes opened and she was smiling lazily, apparently satisfied by his efforts. “Now?” she asked, not that she had to, as she started moving her hand over him once more. Slowly, loosely, giving him room to protest, not that he would. At the height she’d tightened her grip on him, almost enough to bring him with her even with him trying not to, but with a moment to breathe as she’d come down and the gentler touch now he was able to delay a little longer. It was a sweet torment, after all. If they had no other obligations than the continued repairs…
He eased his fingers out of her, mindful that she was probably sensitive now but still setting off a flutter in her heart rate when he brushed against her over-excited nerve endings. She didn’t object, though, continuing the slow slides over his shaft and watching as he raised that hand to his lips. He enjoyed the sharp, salty taste of her, knowing that his presence could do to her even before he touched her. He could hear her sigh quietly as he licked; she rarely complained when he did that elsewhere. “Do you want to?” she asked, dipping her free hand under her underwear. When she pulled them back out he caught her wrist to suck at her fingers instead, and he could smell the fresh wave of arousal from her. His stomach muscles clenched at his own surge of need.
In silent answer he pulled her hand away from his cock, regretfully even if he had a good reason to do so, and knelt down. This close her scent was overwhelming regardless of her clothing. Quickly he undid the fastenings of her boots, dragged down her pants and underwear before encouraging her to step out of them all. She did, toward him, and he caught her hips and breathed. Strong smell, tempting, and he wanted to have her at his mercy there but the urge to take his time and render her boneless with pleasure won out. He pressed a kiss to her skin, at the join of thigh and hip.
He straightened, and she was more than willing to be pulled with him to the bed, taking advantage of the closeness when they reached it to kiss him, her lips and tongue demanding his capitulation. She started to tug his clothes further down, took him in hand again, but when she sat on the edge he moved back before she could put her mouth on him.
He shed the rest of what he wore, seeing Beka as he did so slide back up the bed to recline against the pillows, pale against the dark linen. She was watching him, appreciative, and he felt a warmth that was not sexual at the sight of an approving female waiting in his bed to welcome him. Dangerous, that impulse, in light of their earlier conversation, but tempting nonetheless.
Giving into the physical temptation, ignoring the more complicated one, Tyr followed her up the bed, stalking her in her path like a predator, her scent a scintillating mix of want and fear at the growl that rumbled only half-intended in his chest. The want won out as he hung over her, caging her again with his body and taking her mouth. She made a noise, a faint protest, when he kept her from touching him but it dissolved into a moan almost immediately, and she didn’t try again when he released her wrists. Once he was content that she would cooperate he moved away from her mouth, the moan this time disappointed. While he understood, he had another idea, one that she herself had suggested, and the longer he stayed there the greater the chance that she would distract him from his goal.
He moved to her neck, her ear, the spots that he knew would make her mindless at the touch, and by the time he bit the inside curve of her breast, leaving a mark only they would find later, she was arching under him with her fingers burrowing into the pillow under her head. Her heart was thundering already as he lingered there before following her smell down her body.
Warm, flushed, wonderfully responsive, shuddering when he dipped his tongue into her navel on the way as a reflection of his ultimate goal: even with a reprieve from her touching him he was aching again by the time he was crouched between her thighs. It took effort to focus on her only, to compartmentalize his own physical needs in favor of hers. It was not, he thought, going to be a long wait, with her reactions as intense as if she had not already come once.
Almost as soon as he put his mouth on her she was writhing under his caresses, breathing in short, frantic gasps as he tasted her, teased her; the gasps turned into a cry when he finally pressed against the cluster of overexcited nerves. She didn’t repeat it, but it had not been a sound of complaint. Instead she was pushing back at him, the writhing transmuting into purposeful, directed motion. He was glad to oblige, stoking her higher, closer, and and when he tried sucking at the delicate skin he felt her whole body shudder.
Again, then alternating, hearing her breathing catch before she arched up at the electrical current of her climax, and he kept going as her body shook with the force of it. At last, with one last moan, she relaxed under him with her heart still racing; he moved back when she tried to close her legs, catching him in between, and he took it as the indication of enough that it probably was. So he waited, sitting back to wait as she came down from the high, her skin slowly fading back to its usual pale tones except for where he had bitten her, and that vivid red did nothing to alleviate his own desires. Eventually she smiled again, slowly, her eyes still closed. “You like doing that to me?”
"Gives you more reasons to keep me alive."
“Always about survival..” Now she opened her eyes, her gaze moving down his body to rest on his erection, so hard it was on the verge of pain. She licked her lower lip, apparently pleased, and his stomach muscles clenched again at that, the motion seductive intentionally or not. “And there’s perks to surviving.”
She had not been as boneless as he might have thought. Or perhaps she’d recovered quickly? Regardless, even though he did not see her tensing beforehand, bracing to move, she was abruptly kneeling in front of him. Her lips were on his neck, fingers of one hand knotted in his braids close to his skull to keep him still as she moved to scrape her teeth over his collarbone— not enough to bruise later but enough to send a pulse through him now. He groaned at the feel of her other hand wrapped around him, sliding in the drops that had escaped already, that he couldn’t hold back. Nor could he hold back the thrust into her hand, needing her touch more than he could say.
She must have known, even without his articulation, moving her mouth up to his neck to whisper in his ear. “Come for me.” And he did, her breath on his ear tipping him over the edge, holding onto her desperately as the sensations wracked his body, with his seed and life’s purpose spilling fruitlessly between them.
He still held her, after, no longer for physical support. Rather than indulge in her usual sardonic humor, as he half-expected in response to his capitulation to her command, she stayed quiet, accepting the soft kisses he pressed to her lips and skin. She did shake her head minutely when he again brushed her hair away from her forehead, checking for if their exertions had reopened the bleeding. He accepted the rebuke and let the strands fall back to cover the gel pad. She kissed him once more anyway; he wasn’t sure if it was in appreciation or in acknowledgement of his earlier admission.
Either way she pulled him down to lie with her when she leaned back against the pillows. Rather than trying to ensnare him for more, as he would otherwise have expected, Beka did not seem to be trying to incite him or direct him to spots that would arouse either of them again. Nor did she then push him away to clean up and return to repairs, which they should by all rights be doing. Instead she lay tucked up next to him, letting him hang above her and feel her presence, touch her in ways to assuage his own hard-to-suppress concern more than anything else. He wondered anew if she had not fully exorcised her demons regarding him yet, but then a thought that had not entered his mind before appeared. It would not have occurred to him to ask despite their earlier discussion were it not for her behavior now, unlike their normal interactions after their encounters and reminiscent of those stolen moments with Freya, so long ago now they seemed. “Had you—” he began, but faltered, less because of his own courage than because she had been drowsing under his arm, judging by the quiet hum of confused response when he spoke. “No, sleep.”
“No, s’okay, what is it?” She looked up at him, blinking. “We don’t have much time, but if something’s wrong…”
He rubbed his thumb over her lip, foolishly wishing they did have time, far more of it than they could afford on the Andromeda. “Had you ever wanted to be a wife? To anyone,” he added hastily, lest she think he was promising what he could not give.
Surprise, suspicion, that melted into consideration. At last, fully awake again, she said, “Maybe, a very long time ago. Probably before my mom left us. Maybe. It’s not really as big a deal for Humans.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why ask?” And whatever moment of pensiveness she had been having was apparently over, as she continued, “Especially because I doubt you’re planning to whisk me away to elope anytime soon.”
Tyr paused. She had sounded lighthearted about it, but he wondered. He decided to take her attitude on its face. “Yes, and have at least twelve children. When do you want to leave?”
“Right now? We’ll need to get started if you want a full dozen.” She grinned at him. “Really, what brought that up?”
He shrugged, trying to banish the phantom image their words had created. “I had wondered. Given our… earlier discussion… it seemed to be a logical question, especially as we can’t.”
“Ah, okay.” She took a deep breath. It wasn’t quite a sigh. “You don’t need to worry. I’m not going to suddenly demand that you marry me and father my children. Even if I wanted that, I figure if you were volunteering it would have come up before.”
“Yes. It would.”
“And I’m pretty sure this is just until you find a suitable Nietzschean wife who says, ‘Sure, I’ll marry you, and a dozen kids sounds great,’ and means it, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” and saying that made his stomach clench once more, this time for reasons he didn’t fully understand. After a moment of silence between them, he sat up, extending a hand to her. “I believe we’ll be called to work on repairs soon. Perhaps we should be prepared for the inevitable?”
She nodded, letting him pull her up. She may have hesitated first, but followed nonetheless. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
And he felt that something had been irrevocably, inexplicably lost.
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In the Stars	By : Bebe Category: 1 through F > Andromeda Views: 302 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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In the Stars