Tribune owns Andromeda.
Set in S5, somewhere between PPP and DotA.
Last one standing
She had been watching them from afar for hours, never coming closer, never letting anyone of them buy her a drink, but not letting them out of sight, either. It was a pathetic picture: the three men drinking on and on, pretending to have a good time, pretending to be friends, while Trance and Doyle stood watching, disconcerted, worried, pretending to understand.
It hadn't taken Dylan and Rhade long to make Harper join them in their evening ritual of getting drunk together. In spite of all hurt and mistrust, of all anger and rage, the three of them had pretty soon ended up practicing the typical male bonding: sharing as much cheap drinks as even possible, boasting about what they had done, what they thought they were doing presently and what they still wanted to accomplish. It seemed to work – somehow!
A loud ‚thump' interrupted Beka's musings, as Telemachus Rhade's head finally hit the table. Surprised, but not too concerned, Dylan Hunt, sitting next to him, clumsily tried to straighten the Nietzschean up, but gave up after a couple of unsuccessful attempts performed with the careful meticulosity of the very drunk. He seemed annoyed, but then ordered more to drink and gave up on Rhade. By the time Sambler had brought his order, lining four drinks up in front of him, Doyle was deeply frowning and Trance looked close to tears. Sighing, Beka stood up and approached the table.
„Ladies," she curtly nodded.
„Beka!" Trance's relieved exclamation brought Dylan's head up. He tried focusing on her, but then decided that the coordination of two eyes at once was by far too much trouble. Still: he recognized her.
„Be...ksh," he slurred invitingly. „When h've ya deshid'd to shoin the pardy?" A sight blurp accompanied his words, followed by a twist of his facial muscles.
„If you start retching on my new boots, you're toast," Beka warned him sharply, her harsh tone belying the greeting grin on her face.
He pretended to be gasping in shock. Or maybe he wasn't pretending.
„What? We're talkin' again? No more shilent treatment?"
Disgusted, she let her eyes move on from his face covered with perspiration, displaying slightly flushed cheeks and an idiotic grin, to Trance and Doyle, who both didn't seem reassured by the exchange they had come to witness. Seeing Trance's scared expression, Beka quickly offered a warm, kind smile to her.
„Trance, Doyle, we need to take care of these idiots here. And for your information, Dylan," she turned back towards him, „I'm not joining the party, I'm breaking it up..."
„You're no fun anymore," he complained whiningly.
„What, you mean like you?" Her tone sounded aloof. Frowning, he openend his mouth to answer, but got interrupted by his former XO, contempt written all over her face.
„Oh, shut up, Dylan! Doyle," she then turned smiling towards the beautiful blonde, „do you think you can help Harper to get home?"
„Sure," the young woman answered, „but won't Dylan..."
„Don't worry about Dylan, I'll take care of him," Beka reassured her.
„Yeah," the subject of their conversation cut in, his voice drawling, „I bet you'd like that..."
He never saw it coming. Before he could react a forceful slap hit his cheek, turning his head around.
„Oww!" he exclaimed indignantly, his eyes filling with reproach while one of his hands flew up to his reddening face.
„I think I already told you to shut up," Beka hissed to him, furiously eyeing the imprint of her hand on his skin.
„Dylan, are you all right?" Worried, the brown eyes even wetter than before, Trance hurried beside him, carefully lifting his head.
„No, Trance, he's not all right. He's drunk and has probably been so every goddamn' evening since he arrived on Seefra. As to the slap, I'm sure he will bravely survive it," Beka admonished her annoyed.
„That was quite impressive!" Doyle remarked, flashing a brief, radiant smile over to the captain of the Eureka Maru. „I think I like your style!"
„I'm glad you appreciate. Now, can you handle Harper?"
„Of course," the fragile looking blonde replied, rising an eyebrow in an aloof expression that matched Beka's own. And as if to prove her statement, she quickly grabbed the small man under his armpits, lifting him as if he were a negligible weight – which, come to think of it, he probably was after 3 years on Seefra, as Beka realized, suddenly feeling even more saddened than before. She friendly smiled at Doyle, who returned the grin, while she was at the same time carefully supporting a vaguely protesting Harper, marching him to the doors.
„I'll check on you tomorrow," Beka hurriedly said against their withdrawing backs. Without turning around, Doyle casually waved a free hand towards her, the other arm gripping Harper's waist in a tighter way.
If she can move and direct a drunk man along with just one arm, there must be more to her than meets the eye, Beka thought impressed. But then she returned her attention back to her more pressing problems.
„Okay, Trance, now to our other problem: you pick up Rhade and bring him to his quarters."
The big, brown eyes of the young girl grew even larger.
„Me?" she whispered, anguished. „But, Beka..."
„Trance, listen to me. I know you can't remember, I know that when he's sober Dylan's treating you like a raw egg. Still: you are an awesome fighter – and you're very strong. I know that for a fact, so please, just trust me on this one."
„Really?" The golden alien's tone changed to playfulness. Standing up she turned sligtly from right to left and back again, briefly flashing a radiant smile to Beka. „I am strong enough to carry even Rhade?"
„Well, maybe not carry him," the older woman answered, „but you should have no trouble at all supporting him and steering him through the streets. And should someone attack you," the pilot hurriedly offered, nestling on her thigh to withdraw a gun, „here, take one of those. That should be enough protection for everyone."
„But, Beka, how..."
„You know how. It'll come to you, should you really need it."
Amazed, Trance nodded slowly and then grabbed Rhade's arm. At first there was no reaction, but then the Nietzschean groaned, lifting his head as if there were weights attached to it, one of his hands trying to lazily brush her off. Without caring if she was inflicting any pain or not, the captain of the Maru grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head up until she could see his eyes.
„Beka!" her former crew-mate exclaimed somewhat surprised, his tone though displaying a funny friendliness, emphasized by a grin. „Nice to shee you. What're ya' doin' ´ere?"
A fake smile on her face, the blonde grabbed for his other arm and started hauling him up with Trance's assistance.
„Trying to get you home, as long as you can still do it under your own steam."
„What d'ya mean? I'm fine..." he started protesting, struggling to get to his feet and swaying once he succeeded.
„Well, what d'ya know? It's moving!" he then exclaimed surprised, feebly trying to steady himself by firmly planting his hands on the table. After waiting a few seconds for him to find his balance, Beka straightened him up, finally letting go of his arm and hair. Contemptously, she brushed her hand off on the side of her pants.
„Make Drago proud, will you? Wash yourself more often," she threw to him, her mouth twisted in disgust. With a short glance she checked on Trance, who was firmly holding on to the Nietzschean's other arm and nodded upon seeing the blonde's inquisitive gaze. Beka had been right, as Trance found out astonished: she really had no trouble keeping the huge man up. Murmuring soothing words she gently started to walk him into the general direction of the door.
„Trance, have I told you, that you've become a real cutie?" Rhade asked her, bowing his head conspiratorily down to her.
„No, Rhade, you haven't. I didn't know you noticed..." Trance replied in a gentle, appeasing voice while walking.
„Ah, I should've done that sooner. ´cause it's true, you know? The longer I know you, the younger you look. Prettier, too..." Beka heard him answer her, their voices slowly fading as they moved along. She sighed, briefly closing her eyes before returning her attention back to the table, where Dylan still sat watching, one hand barely supporting his cheek, his elbow slowly sliding towards one side.
„Now to the two of us..." the pilot addressed him in a cold voice. „Come on, get up, Dylan!"
„No!" He shook his head with determination.
„Dylan..."
„Hey, lady, leave the boy alone!" The raspy, croaked voice belonged to a dirty old man in rags, known by the name of Prius, who slowly stood up from his adjacent table and approached them. „If he wants to drink, let'm. It's not gonna kill'm, you know!" He stopped close to Beka, a lanky, frail figure reminding more of a scarecrow than a living person. Annoyed, the captain of the Eureka Maru withdrew a few steps, one of her hands discreetly covering her nose.
„Why don't you mind your own business?"
„Why don't you?" Dylan's voice slurred next to her. She looked down on him.
„This stuff – you keep it up and it will kill you."
„So?"
„Take a forcelance, Dylan. It's faster, cheaper – less messy, too."
He smirked up at her.
„You're all heart."
„Yeah. Up! You're done here!"
„No!" Another vigorous shaking of his head, that seemed to be proving as a bad idea, made him dizzily grab for the table.
„Come on, lady! You heard the boy!" Prius set a weak hand under her elbow in a meak attempt to push her back.
„He is not a boy!" she hissed back at him. Angry, she pushed the old man aside, freeing herself and shoving her way past him back to the table where Dylan was seated, throwing the Seefran off-balance.
„Hey, what did you do that for?" another indignant voice rose behind her. Before she could turn around, she felt a hand grabbing for her hair, while Prius, who had fallen on his knees, was weakly reaching for her right leg. In a reflexive, flowing motion, Beka simply thrust her elbow up and backwards, slightly turning on her right foot and powerfully striking out at the bent figure before her with her left one. There was a slight cracking sound behind her, followed by a small shout, that was accompanied by a grunt coming from the floor. Finally turning around and drawing her remaining weapon at once, she noticed the fellow who had grabbed her from behind whiningly holding his nose, while Prius was hurriedly crawling away into a corner.
„Any more objections to me and Captain Hunt finishing our discussion alone?" she asked, throwing defiant glances all around her. „No? Good! Now, Dylan," Beka returned to the seated man, who had watched the scene impassively, with glassy eyes and apparently utterly desinterested at anything else but the four drinks in front of him, „you coming, or do I have to beat you up to make you?"
For an instant he seemed to sober up, a vicious, vindictive gleam flashing up in his eyes. It passed so quickly, she would have thought it a mere impression had his hand, raising in defense in front of him, not been completely steady.
„Just give me a minute," he then however drawled on, „I still have some business to attend to. Celebrating my ladies,,," Without waiting for her reaction he simply took the first glass, downing its contents.
„To Sarah!" he said lowly, his head thrown back , his eyes not leaving Beka's face. „To Trance!" he added, downing the second.
„Dylan!"
„To Rommie," he choked, bringing the third glass up to his lips, his eyes becoming blurred, but still not leaving hers.
Beka felt a chill crawling up her spine. There was one glass left, his hand inches away from it, but not yet taking hold of it.
„This last one... To me?" she asked in an even, low-keyed voice.
He nodded mockingly.
„The last one standing..." he said. She felt anger raising like a tide within her, threatening to engulf her like a huge wave. She didn't fight it, bent over and picked the drink up, throwing it with an elegant twist of her wrist right into his face.. He jerked up as the liquid burningly reached his eyes, crashing back down on his chair and wiping at his face with uncoordinate hands.
„What... ? Just what do you think you're doing? Why don't you leave?"
„I don't know, Dylan, I really don't know! I actually shouldn't be giving a damn about what you do anymore... For all I care you can go to hell and take Harper and Rhade with you on your way down," she barked at him in a growling tone that would have done Tyr proud.
„Then go!" he lashed back at her, finally managing to look back up at her. Staring back at him, Beka felt the rage leaving her, while something inside of her was slowly starting to break up. She couldn't define it, couldn't put a finger to it... She just felt the ice fist in her stomach, that had never left her in all those weeks since Jonah's death finally starting somehow to subside.
„Leave!" Dylan pressed out again.
She rounded the table separating her from him and firmly grabbed his chin, forcing his head away from her and towards the other ‚guests' in the bar, who were all silently observing the scene between the two of them. He didn't try to pull out of her grip.
„Look at them," she urged him. „Don't you see that they all don't give shit about you, all this scum assembled here in this bar, in this whole damned system? Do you really not see it? Or have you already become one of them?" she asked him quietly, letting go of him. He slowly turned his head to meet her gaze.
„No, don't answer that, don't tell me that you're now just like them, without hope, no backbone, no ambitions, no goals, no ideals. I won't believe it, Dylan, I just won't believe you."
Their eyes locked, hers almost drilling fiercefully into his.
„I know, I should pity you in your despair, your suffering, but I don't. You deserve it. Still: I'm ashamed of the way you're letting yourself down. I'm ashamed to witness..." she vaguely waved her hand towards their surroundings, „to watch you every night drowning yourself in here."
„You don't understand..." Dylan mumbled miserably.
„Dear... boy," she interrupted him mockingly, „there is not one thing in the whole universe about guilt, blame and self-pity that I don't understand. So quit beating yourself up and thinking you deserve this. You're getting drunk for what? For whom? Why? Because of Sarah, Trance? Because of Rommie? Me? Because you lost us? Because we betrayed you, lied to you, left you alone?" Beka laughed up bitterly. „Wake up, Dylan, wake up! Each and every one of us, including Rommie and – I'm sure – even your precious Sarah has sold herself just like the cheapest whore for a lot less than what you're now willing to pay."
„No!" He tried to push himself back, away from her, but Beka grabbed his arm, forcing him to stay.
„Yes!" she insisted coldly. „You may not give a damn about what I'm telling you, but I know, Dylan, I know that no matter how hard you try or how much you drink - you'll never forget about us, about me."
He bowed his head, kept silent. But then she heard him slowly, painfully whisper a question to her:
„So now what?"
„Now you quit this madness. We have all buried loves, hidden guilts inside of us. We all stood at one time in some windy spaceport waiting for another one to arrive, who then never showed up. We've all wept at some point in an icy, shabby hotel room, because of a man or a woman of whom we hardly now remember the face anymore. We all failed, ran away, deserted in a decisive moment and live now with regrets. And we all go on with our lives, we don't drink up all the supply of alcohol left between here and Seefra 9..."
„Rhade does..."
„So now what?" she asked him, mimicking his previous tone. „You've beaten the damn' Nietzs in all other fields and have as your new goal in life to prove that you can outdrink them, too?"
In a quick, fluent move, Beka got to her feet. She nodded towards the bartender, indicating the glasses.
„Put this on his tab!" Grabbing for his arm she then admonished the still seated man: „Come on, Dylan, get up."
He came to stand, swaying, with difficulty, but he complied and let her lead him out of the bar.
„Why?" he asked though quietly, as they reached the street, slowly moving forward towards the compound he lived in.
She shrugged her shoulders, that were supporting his arm, throwing a furtive glance at his tired face. It was barely recognizable in the darkness of the night.
„Because you're a mess."
„I'm sorry."
„Yes, I know. Make it up to me."