Disclaimer: I do not own Andromeda, the characters, or the history of the characters. I merely play with them and then return them mostly unharmed.
Timeframe: Set pre-Andromeda.
Moving onRebecca "Beka" Valentine stepped out of the Maru and walked onto a drift, memories of which were planted firmly in her mind. Her father had taken her and her brother, Raif, here many a time when she was a child. Her feet started to lead the way before her brain even registered the fact that she was walking. The path so engraved in her mind from all the times her daddy had stumbled half high on flash to a run down building in the sleazy drift with his children tagging closely behind. A drift where no one worth anything was ever found, and only those looked down upon by the rest of society were seen. A drift known to all the users as the home of a wonderful bar where all things can be bought, sold, or traded. Whether weapons, drugs, or flesh.
She stopped outside the building, which was an old warehouse that looked like it hadn't been used in years. But she knew better, all the users and users kids knew what it really was. She walked inside the crumbling building, her feet leading her to the back left corner of the building. She crouched down and undid an anklet of hemp and beads, which spelled out the words from an old Earther language, one she couldn't recognize but looked like "hope is lost on me". Taking it off she stood up and dropped it through a hole in the floor of the building. A second later a piece of the floor was lifted up from underneath and slid over next to the hole now filling a 3 by 4 foot place.
She stepped down into the hole, took her jewelry back from a man and tied it around her wrist as the man slid the piece of wood back over the hole, waiting to be opened for the next sinner.
She walked down the dirty stairwell, getting closer to light and faint raver music. As she neared the end she scanned the crowd for familiar faces, wondering if they were still alive or if their addictions had finally killed them.
She saw the man that she was looking for and strolled over to the bar and sat next to him. The familiar face of the bartender gave her a forced smile. He had never liked her, said she took business away. She supposed that it was true. All the times she has dragged her daddy away. And all the times she has refused buying drugs. The men she has scared away, whether from them thinking she's undercover, as no one comes in without some sort of business, or the men she has hurt when they tried to pick her up.
She gladly takes a sip of the glass that the bartender has put in front of her as he turns away to fetch a vial of white liquid for a patron at the end of the bar who is leaving for the night. Out of the corner of her eye she can see the man next to her steal a look at her. She sighs and she studies his frame for what must be the millionth time as he sits on that stool and throws his life away.
He's not that young, but the years of chemical abuse to his system have made him look older then he really is. Brown hair disheveled, and falling over pale, pasty skin that was once slightly tanned. But is now sickly looking from too many years of drug abuse. His hands shake as one holds his glass and the other rests on his lap. He sighs and finally turns to face her, but then quickly looks away with a look of something on his face, which she has seen before but never been able to quite decipher. Shame? Guilt? Annoyance?
She sighs as well and stares back into her drink. Wondering why she even came here. Why she still has hope that he can be saved, why she puts herself through the torture of finding him, why she even bothers to care anymore when he certainly doesn't. He doesn't mind how he hurts her just so long as he gets his fix.
She might as well join him. The little bottles of white liquid stare at her from the other side of the bar, calling out to her, begging to be used.
"You shouldn't have come here Rocket." The man pauses to gulp. "It's not safe for a good girl like you. Why don't you go out, leave here. I'm fine, don't you worry about me now, Rocket. I can find my way home just fine." He glances over to her, with a look of nervousness in his eyes, and maybe just a hint of desperation.
She takes another sip of her glass before putting it down. "I can't just leave you here. It's late. You need some sleep."
He chuckles, "You always did know how to take care of me Rocket. But this is home, of sorts. See? You see that sign up there Rocket? The name of this bar, it means I'll be fine here. Even all by my lonesome, I got this glass to keep me company. Now go on, run along and play with some kiddies your own age Rocket."
She glances up at the sign, which reads the name of the worn down bar, 'Haven'. She half smiles at the irony of it. A haven is a place of safety, but this bar is anything but. Yes, druggies can get their fixes here without worry of being caught. Only those with a bracelet can get in. And it can only be found if you know what to look for. But they sit down here day after day, sometimes never even leaving, and waste their lives away. Throwing away family, friends, everything. The only thing that can get them down here is themselves, and even that the escape by drinking and using. She snorts.
Some haven.
Suddenly feeling very tired, and much older then her years, she wearily puts down her glass and pushes it away from her. She looks at the man sitting beside her, and then glances around at all the other patrons of the bar. And suddenly realizes something that she has been trying to hide from for a very long time.
She can't save him.
She can't make him stop.
He's not just like one them, he is one of them.
Suddenly she feels cold and realizes that the man beside her is not the man she thinks he is. He is not the man that he was all those years ago.
She stands up and drops some cred on the bar counter. Enough for her partially finished drink, and at least 12 others. She knows he has had about 3 drinks, and will spend money more before the night is over. She doesn't need him coming back to her bleeding again because he didn't have enough to pay.
She leans over and kisses his cheek, and then turns and walks away.
She never noticed his shaking hand reach up and caressed where her lips had touched him, the shaking stopped for a moment.
"Bartender, I'll take a bottle of the good white stuff."
"A bottle of flash for my favorite customer it is."
Pausing at the stairs to look back, she only says two words before she leaves, wearily defeated, suddenly wanting nothing more then go home and curl up to cry.
"Goodbye Daddy."