Okay. I felt like writing my own version of how Harper and Becka met…I know, as if there aren't enough versions already. I don't own any of the characters from Andromeda (although Harper is currently hanging out on my computer, I cannot in good conscience count that as ownership…stupid conscience.), so please, no one get the bright idea to sue me. Enough chat; here's the fic:

Stowaway

It was night in the spaceport on the once-great Earth. The spaceport had a name at one point, but it had long since been forgotten, and was now affectionately known simply as "Hell". The huge ship sat, dark and apparently unoccupied, waiting until the next morning when it would leave to bring its cargo to its intended location. A small figure darted out from behind a building, three Nietzschean slavers in hot pursuit. The figure paused, checking to see how far behind him the aliens were, then continued onward, with no idea of where to go. He was panicked; he had absolutely no clue why the Divine had taken pity on him and let him escape, but he didn't need to be told twice; if he stopped now, he would only get caught, and severely punished. He shuddered. Not if he could help it.

He almost ran straight into the ship before he noticed it. Maybe he could hide in it; after all, it seemed to be abandoned, no one would care…He pulled a screwdriver from one of the numerous pockets in his oversized pants, and quickly began to unscrew the access panel. If only he had enough time! And he did. With a quiet declaration of his thanks, he crawled inside the small tunnel and pulled the cover over the opening just in time. He held his breath as the Nietzscheans stood just outside, grumbling about how they had missed the "damned kludge." He smirked to himself, glad of his luck. For once.

He crawled deeper into the hatch, finding a place big enough to sleep in. Not that he slept much; his time in the Camps had taken care of that. But after three days on the run, with almost no sleep, he needed it. He curled up into a ball, closed his eyes, and was asleep in seconds.

He woke up a few hours later to the face of a blonde woman a foot away from his. He scooted back as far as he could, which wasn't very, and unsheathed a knife strapped to his thigh, brandishing it at the intruder. "It's okay," she said calmly. "I'm not going to hurt you." He stared at her, confused as to her actions. For so much of his life he had been used to people hurting him at the drop of a hat, so he was unsure how to react to this new development. She seemed equally uncertain, although it probably had more to do with the fact that there was a stranger in her ship rather than the fact that said stranger was brandishing a knife at her. "I'm Becka," she said, trying to get him to calm down and put the knife away. But he continued to stare, sure that this was going to end up the way it usually did, no matter what she seemed like now. "Okay, now this is usually the point in the conversation where you tell me your name," she said, smiling encouragingly.

He remained silent, trying to figure out all possible escape routes while still keeping most of his attention on her. Sure she might seem nice now, but letting his guard down around "nice" people in the past had either gotten them killed or resulted in pain for him. However, telling her his name wouldn't hurt, would it? "H-h-harper," he said in a whisper, hoping that this time his moment of weakness wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass. "D'you got a first name, Harper?"

"Seamus," he said quietly. He still stayed in the corner, and didn't put the knife away, which seemed to irritate Becka. "Harper, I'm not going to hurt you; whatever you're afraid of, you're safe here."

She looked at him closer, trying to find a way to get him to relax. His response was to look down at his feet, averting his eyes from her intent gaze. Looking into someone else's eyes usually ended up with him waking up in a cage covered in bruises, and he wasn't eager to repeat the experience anytime soon.

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Becka was surprised to find someone in one of the access hatches of the Eureka Maru when she was doing the diagnostics that morning. She would have to send Bobby out after he got back from the job to check on holes in the hull, since there was no way the poor kid had gotten into it through the ship's main hatch. She was even more surprised at the kid's reaction to being woken up. She knew she shouldn't be; they were after all on Earth, and the planet wasn't exactly known as the height of civilization; most of its inhabitants were little more than socialized dogs, half-starved and fighting with each other for every scrap of food they found. It was sad, really.

She tried to calm the kid down, introducing herself and making jokes during his stony silences to try to lighten the mood, but he was too damn scared to do anything other than stare at her with his huge blue eyes and threaten her with his knife. Not that he actually posed much of a threat; he was half-starved, like most mudfoots, and looked like he was going to drop at any minute from exhaustion. She could tell by looking at him that he was on the run from someone; he was covered in cuts and scrapes, with a gash on the side of his face and a split lip. He was holding his left arm tightly to his body, so it was probably broken. If he didn't get medical attention, his cuts were likely to get infected, since he probably had the crappy immune system of the rest of the inhabitants. But he was too scared to be taken to the med bay without attacking her.

She sighed. The kid, Harper, flinched, as if she was going to hit him. "I promise, kid, I'm really not going to hurt you." She tried to touch him, to reassure him that her intentions were good, but he backed up even further and glared at her. "Don't touch," he said, although she could tell by the sound of his voice that he didn't actually expect her to listen. "Okay, I won't," she said. "I'm just going to go to the mess to get you something to eat. I'll be right back; don't go anywhere."

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Harper was left sitting by himself. He didn't mind; it was safer that way. She was going to get him something to eat? He frowned in confusion. When had anyone ever done that for him? Well, when he was little and his parents were still alive…He stopped that train of thought in its tracks; it was just too painful to think about.

Instead, he thought about Becka, the person who had found him. She hadn't done anything yet, but it was only a matter of time until he displeased her and she punished him for it. But she had told him she wasn't going to hurt him. He shook his head. He had heard that promise too many times, and had it broken, for him to actually believe her.

A few minutes later he heard footsteps, and was on alert again. It was Becka, with food. She carried a plate of what looked to be meat of some sort and bread, along with two glasses of water. She put the food down in front of him, and he looked up at her. This was too good to be true. "Go ahead, eat. That's what it's there for." He looked down at the food, swallowing. It smelled so good…

Harper took a chance, and grabbed a piece of meat, devouring it in a few bites, barely chewing. It had been a few days since he had eaten, and he had forgotten how hungry he actually was. Becka looked at him, and he immediately stopped eating.

"No, go on. I just hadn't realized how hungry you were." She gave him a reassuring smile, and he continued eating. Suddenly, his stomach hurt, more than it ever had before, and he felt sick. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the pain didn't stop. He crawled up in a ball, holding his stomach and whimpering, wishing it would stop. Suddenly his gorge rose, and everything he had just wolfed down came rushing back up, and ended up all over the floor. Becka looked at him in understanding, and began picking up the uneaten food and moving it out of the way. "Damn. I should have realized feeding him too quickly would make him hurl; the kid probably hasn't eaten in a week," she muttered under her breath. She picked up one of the glasses of water, and offered it to him.

He shook his head vehemently, backing away from the proffered cup. "Come on, Harper, you need to drink. It'll get rid of the bad taste in your mouth, and I'm sure you haven't gotten enough liquids either." He looked at her in horror. Didn't she know how bad water was? It had nasty stuff in it that made you sick, and ended up killing you from the fever. Why would she offer him some?

She looked at him in confusion. "What? It's only water; I'm not trying to poison you or anything. See?" She brought the cup to her lips, as if to drink. Harper reacted from years of experience on Earth, and knocked the glass out of her hand, spilling the water and breaking the glass. Immediately he knew he was in trouble, and cowered, expecting to be kicked. After all, he would deserve it; he had broken her glass, after she had been nice to him and fed him. He would probably be punished for throwing up her food too.

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Becka shook her head in resignation. The poor kid was only acting in the way that had kept him alive this long. It was a pity; it didn't have to be this way. "It's okay, Harper. It's only a glass; we have more. But why did you knock it out of my hand, if I may ask?"

He looked at her, clearly dumbfounded. "It's bad," he said. "It's got stuff in it that gives you the fever, and then you die. Everyone knows that." That's right; the water on Earth was toxic. No wonder, considering how many chemicals had seeped into it over the past few thousands of years. "This water is different; we put it through a system that purifies it, so it takes all the bad stuff out." Harper looked at her in awe, obviously amazed that such a thing could be done. However, he still refused to drink it when she offered it to him, finally accepting a Sparky Cola when she got tired of explaining to him over and over that the water she was offering him was not in fact dangerous. After that was settled, she went back to the mess to get Harper some soup, since he obviously was in serious need of food, and he was not likely to throw up soup, as long as he ate it slowly.

She brought it back to the access hatch, and offered it to him. He took it hesitantly, less frightened of her but still uneasy. When he tried to gulp it down as he had the meat and bread, she cautioned him to slow down, which he did reluctantly. Luckily, this time the food stayed down.

"Okay, now that you've eaten, I think it's time for you to get out of the access hatch." He stared at her as if she had grown two heads in the course of the past minute. "I'm serious," she said. "You've eaten my food, drank my soda, and now I think it's time you got out of my ship's access hatch. You don't expect to stay there forever, do you?"

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Maybe he hadn't expected to stay there indefinitely, but he hadn't expected to get kicked out so soon. If he really wanted to be honest with himself, he was surprised that she had allowed him to stay for so long. But now that she had, he was disappointed that she wanted him to leave. He reluctantly climbed out into the hallway where Becka was standing, and stood there, staring at the floor, wondering what she was going to do with him.

He was surprised when she began to walk down the hallway and stopped after taking a few steps. She turned around, sighed, and motioned for him to follow her. Uh-oh. Where was she taking him? He followed, more because his history with Camps and Nietzscheans and how humans were supposed to act told him that he should than because he actually wanted to. Truth be told, he was afraid of what was coming. Was she going to put him in a cage? Beat him for breaking her glass and breaking into her ship and puking on the floor of her access hatch? He had an idea of what to expect, but the reality wasn't it.

She led him into a room with white walls and a bed in the middle of it, with a table of medical instruments nearby. He backed up into the hallway; no way would he go in that room. But she dragged him in, ignoring his flinching and attempts to break loose. What was she going to do to him? The instruments promised pain, and he had hoped that those days were over, at least for now.

"You are a bloody mess. With your immune system, you'll probably get sick if I don't do anything about your injuries." She sighed. She seemed to be doing a lot of that. She walked towards him, and he backed up. "I'm not going to hurt you. Okay, that would be a lie. I'm not going to hurt you on purpose. I noticed that you've got some cuts and scrapes, and I think your arm is broken, so those things are going to need to be fixed. Unfortunately, I'm not a doctor, so it's probably going to hurt a little more than it ordinarily would. But I promise you; it won't be for long, and I'll try to be as gentle as I can." He relaxed, a little. At least she didn't want to hurt him; that was more than he could say for most people.

He allowed her to approach, and she grabbed a damp towel and carefully cleaned the blood off his face. He wasn't entirely sure where the cuts had come from; after the first few he had stopped keeping track. While she was cleaning the blood off, he heard an intake of breath. He turned his head, trying to see what she was reacting to, and ended up hitting her hand with his face. He gave her a questioning look. "What is that on your neck?" She asked.

He felt his neck, wondering what she was talking about. His fingers brushed up against the vaguely circular piece of metal that was stuck into the right side of his neck. Oh, that's what she was talking about. "Umm, it's a data port. It lets me plug into computers so I can learn stuff."

"Where did – how..?" Becka was obviously confused about how a mudfoot on Earth had managed to get a neural interface, one of the most expensive, not to mention dangerous, procedures in the history of the Commonwealth. Harper figured this one deserved an explanation, personal reservations or no. He took a deep breath.

"I got taken into slavery at twelve. I served a few years, doing manual labor and stuff, until one of the Nietzscheans discovered that I was a little smarter than the others. Before I got taken in, I had been building things out of spare parts, and continued after I got brought to one of the Camps. They found out, and decided I would be more useful as a mechanic, so that's what I've been doing for the past four years. They got me the data port because they wanted me to know about all ships; battlecruisers, transport ships, everything. That way I could fix whatever needed fixing without them needing to take the time to teach me. It didn't stop them from taking their annoyance at the state of things out on me, but at least I got to eat a little more often than the laborers." He stopped talking, thinking about the past six years; the beatings, the screaming, the nights he spent in a cage. And he still could find a positive in it all. He laughed bitterly, causing Becka to raise her eyebrows. He shook his head; he wasn't ready to share that much.

"Didn't it hurt to get the data port?"

"Yeah. They can't even knock you out, because there's a high incidence of complications, so they want to make sure you're okay. I was out of it for a couple of weeks afterwards, because it got infected and I insisted on downloading info even after the doc told me not to. So I got a bad fever, and they lost two weeks of repair. I can tell you, they weren't too happy about that. I had bruises for weeks afterwards." He laughed bitterly again.

Becka decided it was time to finish cleaning Harper up. After the blood was gone, she took a bottle of something off the shelf and dipped the rag into it. He watched as she brought it to his cuts, and almost jumped off the bed when she started cleaning them with it. "Damn it, Harper!" She yelled. He cowered; here it came. He had displeased her, and was going to be punished for sure. She looked at him, shaking her head. "I'm not really angry at you, Harper. I just wish you wouldn't flinch, that's all; I can't clean your cuts very well if you move."

"Oh," he said in a small voice. "Sorry." After that, he resolved to stay still, no matter how much it stung; after all, she was only trying to help. Next, she moved on to his broken arm. When she reached for it, he flinched away. "Don't touch," he said.

She looked at him in exasperation. "I can't fix it if you don't let me touch it. I'm sorry, I get that you are still afraid of me and that I'll hurt you, but if you don't let me fix it, it's going to get infected, and then it will hurt a lot more than it will if I fix it now. Plus, if you don't let me fix it, it might not work right once it heals."

It was Harper's turn to sigh. All this mothering was almost worse than what he had been forced to put up with in the Camp. "Fine," he said dejectedly, and held still as Becka set it and wrapped it up, even though he did flinch occasionally when the bone hit a nerve. But, true to her word, Becka was as careful as she could be, which Harper was eternally grateful for.

After his arm was set and bandaged, Becka led him into a small room, ushering him in when he balked at the door. He looked around the room. There was a bed in one corner, a table in another, and the rest was empty. He looked at her questioningly, wondering what she expected him to do. There were only so many things she could do to him in a bedroom, none of which he was looking forward to. Not that he looked forward to getting hurt by his betters, but it was unavoidable, and most of it he had learned to block out.

Surprisingly enough, she turned around and left the room, but not before telling him to get some sleep. He stared at her. That was it? She wanted him to sleep? "Yes," she said. "I want you to sleep. You look like you haven't slept in a week." He gave a wry smile. That was actually pretty accurate; he hadn't slept much in the years since he was put into slavery, mainly because it was dangerous to sleep too long.

She left the room, and he walked over to the bed. It looked way more comfortable than what he was used to; usually he slept on the ground with his arm as a pillow. He lay down on the bed, but it just wasn't right. He tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, but even though the bed was really soft, he couldn't seem to fall asleep. So he got up and lay down on the floor, looked around for potential enemies, found none, curled up into a ball, and within seconds was asleep.

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Becka was awakened from a deep sleep by screaming. She had absolutely no idea what was going on, until she remembered her guest. Damn it. What was his problem now?

She walked down the hall, trying not to run as Harper's screams kicked her adrenaline into overdrive. The kid sounded like he was being murdered; what the hell was going on? She got to the door and entered the room to see Harper thrashing on the floor, fighting against enemies only he could see. He was having a nightmare. She crouched down to his level and began to shake him, calling his name. She prayed to the Divine that Bobby wouldn't hear, as he had gotten back only a few hours ago and was in a bad mood to begin with. This would only make it worse, not only because it would wake him up but because Becka hadn't told him about Harper. Bobby hated guests in general, kids in particular, and if he had been drinking, as she assumed he had, it would only end up with her having to fix Harper up again. She swore under her breath. Why were things never easy?

"Harper!" She said, hoping he was a light sleeper. He continued to toss and turn, screaming all the while. Occasionally she could pick out a "please, no," but it was mostly just a bloodcurdling scream. She shook him harder. "Harper, come on, wake up, Harper." What was the kid's first name? Seamus, that was it. "Seamus, wake up. You gotta wake up, Seamus, come on!" And he did. All at once, his eyes opened and he gasped, unsheathing his knife and backing up, brandishing the knife at her for the second time in twenty-four hours. "It's okay, Harper, it's me." He blinked a few times, and shook his head, clearing it of the nightmare. He looked at his hand, noticing the knife for the first time, and put it away, giving her a wry smile.

At that moment, Bobby appeared in the doorway, appearing to be struggling with the effects of a hangover. He saw Harper, and lost what little self-restraint he had left. "And who the hell is this, Becka?"

"This is Harper. I…found him, and helped him out. He was starving, and a little beat up, so-"

"So what? You just meet this twerp, and you're feeding him and patching him up? Come on, Becka, you know we can't afford to feed every mongrel you pick up off the street. What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Bobby. Have a little compassion; he was a slave of the Nietzscheans. He could use a little help." She began to get pissed. Where did Bobby get off telling her what she could and couldn't do? She was the captain, after all, not him. It was none of his business what she did.

Bobby grunted. "If he was a slave of the Nietzscheans, they're gonna want him back. And do you know who's gonna pay when they find him? We are. And, in case you hadn't noticed, we can't really afford that right now. So dump him, Becka."

Harper pushed himself as far into the corner as he could, trying to escape the anger of the bigger man. Not that he was wrong; it was a known fact that Nietzscheans were very possessive of their slaves, and anyone harboring one was likely to be killed. He closed his eyes, wishing he were anywhere but here.

Becka glanced at him. Poor kid. Why couldn't Bobby see that he needed to be helped? Plus, from what she had heard earlier, he could come in handy; they didn't have an engineer, and neither she nor Bobby had the knowledge to fix every problem the ship gave them. "Bobby. You're angry; I get it. I let a kid on our ship that we have no knowledge about. But he's got potential. He has a data port, so at least he'll be able to learn quick, and he said he was a mechanic for the Nietzscheans, so he'll probably be able to fix the ship when she has problems. Why not just let him stay on as a trial, and if he works out we keep him, and if not we can dump him on another planet. What'ya say?"

Bobby glared at her. Why did she always have to pull this shit? The kid was so skinny, he didn't think he would last a day, let alone a few weeks. He sighed. Becka wanted to save every pathetic being they ran into, no matter what risks were involved. He looked at the kid, who cringed the minute he noticed. That would have to stop. But maybe he could be some help…

"Fine," he said grudgingly. He walked over to the kid, and looked him in the face. "But the minute the mudfoot messes up, we're dumping his ass faster than you can say temporal garbage."

Harper looked up at the man, trying not to cringe. He was not someone to be messed with, and he anticipated days of hiding from this guy. That was just how it was; if he didn't, things would go badly, since his habits seemed to piss the guy- Bobby, was it?–off. At least there was one person here who wouldn't care about his habits, the one thing that had allowed him to reach his eighteenth birthday in one piece. That was the thing about Earth; if you didn't learn, you got eaten alive. It could only get better from here…