I don't own Andromeda.
Set right after DOTM.
Time out
She had waited to see him, patiently, allowing all others onboard who wanted a word with him, needed comforting, reassurance from the captain after their slightly creepy Bokhor-experience, to go first: Rommie, who was still shaken from her sudden realisations on the frailty of human life (not that she didn't know before, but the recent events had made her feel it acutely, maybe for the first time).
Trance, who had desperately tried first to hide away from questions, but then came running back to Dylan, torn apart by feelings of guilt over actions that hadn't been her own to begin with, yet had still been undertaken by her - somehow, nearly causing the death of them all. They had closed themselves off in Hydroponics for hours. When they left, returning to Command, Dylan had looked even more tired, but Trance seemed at peace again.
On Command they ran into a short-tempered, tight-lipped Tyr Anasazi, who had demanded a private word with the captain. They had retreated to Dylan's tiny office that was supposed to be sound-proof, but turned out to obviously not have been designed to block out full-blown displays of Nietzschean rage. No-one could make out what was really said... well, more shouted actually, but they heard the savage, menacing growling clearly and could well imagine the content: something about survival rates when following the ideas of a well-meaning relic, something about the foolishness of walking into unknown dangers out of blind humanitarianism in particular and probably a lot about misguided idealism in general. Dylan's answers were not audible – of course not – but when they emerged from there, Tyr looked somewhat satisfied at having gotten a chance to have his say, while the Commonwealth captain seemed resigned to his fate.
He had spent only minutes on Command, listening patiently to Harper's reports on the alternations and the partial damage resulting from it that the Bokhor had inflicted on the Andromeda, discussing some of Harper's suggestions with the engineer when it suddenly occurred to him that the Terran, though exposed to some of the infected corpses at close range, had not undergone a medical check-up with Trance. Curtly, Dylan had subsequently ordered the young man to postpone all of his intended activities and instead report to Med-deck on the spot. Harper had in vain tried to argue with him that he was all right, that Trance was still busy with the few patients they had managed to save with the new-founded cure; Dylan had remained unbowed, so Harper left.
"Beka..." Dylan had then turned to her.
She smiled.
"How are you feeling?"
"Perfect," she replied. "Trance did well with me."
He smiled back.
"Still, you must be tired. Why don't you take a break, I can take care of everything on my own," he suggested vaguely.
She shook her head:
"I've been lying around and resting long enough..."
"You were infected," Dylan interrupted.
"So were you, only you kept running around while I was out of it... And afterwards I didn't have to sit through any warming heart-to-hearts with Tyr or Harper or..."
"They were scared," he interrupted her anew, defending them in a typical captain's Pavlovian reflex .
"And you weren't?"
"Ah, I'm the skipper," he shrugged dismissively, but then – with an embarrassed half-smile: "I was scared stiff..."
Beka nodded.
"I wasn't, I was just... too busy dying to be scared, I guess," she mused. "I'm a bit scared now, go figure! I guess I wouldn't get any rest at the moment anyway, I'm too wound up. So go on, you go get some rest while I take Command. Before anyone comes back thinking they need some more words with you. Take your chance, as long as they're all still gone..."
/
The shift passed quietly. When Tyr came to take over, Beka left Command and headed for the mess to grab something to eat. On her way down she inquired on Harper's, Rommie's and Trance's whereabouts, hoping that one of them might be available to keep her company while doing so, but it turned out hat Trance was still taking care of some of her patients on Med-deck, who had not recovered as speedily as she would have wanted it, while Harper and Rommie had already begun with repairs.
Beka sighed. She hated eating alone.
"Andromeda, is Dylan still sleeping?"
"No, he's not," the ship told her.
"Where can I find him?"
"Med-deck," Andromeda answered promptly. Her first officer frowned.
"Is something wrong with him?"
"No, Dylan's fine, Beka."
"Then what...? Never mind, I'll go see for myself."
/
"Show me another trick," the little girl demanded, a delighted smile on her lips.
From the doors to the medical compartment, Beka could see Dylan – seated next to the bed – gravely shaking his head.
"I'm running out of tricks, and you, young lady, should have gone to sleep a long time ago. If Trance catches us still fooling around..." He left the sentence open, but pulled a scared face.
The little girl giggled.
"Trance is nice," she lisped, contradicting him.
"Yes, she is," Dylan confirmed with conviction. "But if we make her cross..."
"Can she get awfully mad?" the child whispered conspiratorially.
"Very," the man whispered back in a similar tone. "Now seriously, sweetie," he then insisted, tucking the blanket firmly around her, "please go to sleep."
A heart-tearing, miserable little sob erupted from the bed, the small white face turning around, trying to bury itself into the mass of blond curls spread out on the pillow. Dylan sighed, then gently placed a hand on top of her head and began to stroke her softly.
"I know, sweetheart, I know," he murmured in a soothing, low-keyed voice. "But I'll stay here and there won't be any nightmares and..." He hesitated, a helpless expression passing on his features, but then he continued: "We already are on our way to Infinity," he told her. "It's a beautiful place and your grandparents are very much looking forward to have you with them. You'll like it there, you'll see."
The small head turned back to him, wet green eyes opened wide. A tiny hand crept out from under the blanket and grabbed for two of Dylan's fingers.
"My grandma knows lots of stories. Can you tell me some?"
"I... I'm afraid I don't know that many stories." He bit his lip, seeming to think about it. "Hmm, maybe I know one..."
"Does it have butterflies and fairies and a flying pig?"
He seemed a bit non-plussed.
"A flying pig? No, I'm afraid not."
"Dinosaurs? A dragon?"
"No."
"A prince?"
"No, no prince either."
"A princess?"
Dylan shook his head apologetically.
"What does it have?" she asked sceptically.
"A fish. Once upon a time, there was a little fish..."
"A fish?" The child threw him a critical look: not much of a story, clearly.
"A fish," he confirmed sternly. "Now..."
/
Smiling, Beka withdrew quietly, careful not to disturb them.
She was so wrapped up in her novel that she didn't see him before he pulled at the chair on the other side of the table at which she had seated herself.
"May I?" he asked casually, not waiting for an answer before settling down his plate and a bottle of Harper's beloved Bavarian Weißbräu.
Beka grinned.
"Are you plundering our resident genius' scarce storage of beer?"
"I'll... make it up to him. I just need that right now," Dylan explained in a voice coarse - from telling stories, as Beka presumed. His first officer threw an ironic glance at the masses of food on the plate in front of him while he was carefully pouring the dirty-golden liquid into a tall glass.
"You're obviously in need of a lot right now," she smiled.
"I'm starving. I can't even remember when I ate last time." Grabbing for his fork, Dylan began to dig into his food at amazing speed. Beka shook her head with a smile. He really seemed ravenous. Sipping at her coffee, she began to tell him what she'd done during her shift and how Harper and Rommie got along.
A few minutes later, while his eating speed seemed to calm down, and he began to every now and then react to what she told him with more than mere nods and grunts, she stood up to get herself another cup of coffee. Returning to the table, she found him staring wide-eyed at the flexi she had dropped. He lifted his gaze to her, his eyes still huge in amazement.
"You're nuts, you know that?" he asked, swallowing down his last bite. "After what we went through..." He shook his head incredulously. "Vampires? Really, Beka..."
She laughed a deep-throated, a bit cavernous laugh.
"You know what they say: when you have a slipfighter exploding under your butt, get right back into the next one and go for the next ride or you'll never make it back again."
Dylan frowned.
"I never heard anyone say that," he objected, but the smile lurking behind his severe facade got the better of him and began spreading on his face.
"You have now," Beka smiled back. She some more coffee, watching Dylan closing his eyes in pleasure, satiated and savouring a first taste of his beer. He opened them again upon hearing her clear her throat discreetly.
"The little girl..." she began, stopping again when a small cloud passed on his face. "I was in Medical, but I didn't want to intrude..." she explained. "You were very good with her."
The cloud on Dylan's features persisted.
"Not really," he disagreed. "Her dad and her brother..." he started awkwardly, but then his voice died out. For a brief moment they both seemed lost in thoughts, both looking into their cup or glass, avoiding each other's eyes.
"We can't save them all..." Beka then attempted.
"In fact, we can't save most," Dylan retorted dryly. The young woman smiled sadly.
"You know what they say: you save a whole world by saving one single life..."
"I never heard anyone say this either," Andromeda's captain insisted stubbornly. "Anyway: who comes up with those sayings?"
Beka seemed to think about it.
"Mostly Harper, I think..." she then admitted with a lopsided grin. It shook Dylan out of his darkened mood. The shadow of a smile appeared in a corner of his mouth.
"Figures..."
Sipping at his drink, he let his eyes rest on Beka's face – and suddenly a deep, warm sentiment of content and gratitude invaded his whole being: he felt enormously grateful that they had beaten those... things, that he could sit here with her, that he could still look at all at her face, hear her voice, see her grin, that those blue eyes were no longer pained and dull and feverish, but anew sparkling with life.
"Beka..."
"Dylan..."
He laughed up.
"All right, you first..." he offered.
"I checked the logs, Dylan," she told him straightforwardly. "For the time when I was... well, out of it."
"Can't get enough of'm horror-stories, can you?" he joked lamely.
"Why did you set the auto-destruction that tightly?"
"What do you mean?" he asked her, trying to buy himself some time.
"After I passed out. I mean: why just half an hour?"
He pressed his lips together, but met her eyes head-on.
"You had lost consciousness. The virus... It... it needs 30 minutes to pass the blood-brain barrier after that. You were..." He hesitated, then continued pained: "You were running out of time. Half an hour was all the time you had. You were running out of time," he repeated, his voice quieting down to a whisper.
"Yes, but you weren't."
"I was not going to let those... things take you over," he stated, his tone still low, but sounding fiercely determined. "If you have a problem with that: everything you might want to say has probably already been amply formulated by Tyr. And you know what? I don't care!" he concluded, his voice rising. He stared at her briefly. "I don't care," he repeated, stressing his words more forcefully. "I am the captain, those kind of decisions are mine ultimately – and I'd decide exactly the same way if I would have to do it all over again. What're you gonna do about it?"
"Nothing," Beka said, pushing herself up and coming around the table. She came to a halt next to him. Dylan looked up at her steadfastly, the stubborn trait still firmly in place around his mouth. Seeing his expression, her face softened up while she bent slightly over and placed a solid, warm, child-like, even slightly wet kiss on his cheek. "I just wanted to thank you," she then informed him matter-of-factly, straightening up and leaving him a bit startled.
"You...Hmm, hmm..." he harrumphed. "You're... welcome."
Back at his side, Beka dropped a bowl with ice-cream and two spoons on the table and pulled herself a chair next two him.
"I hope you like strawberry sorbet..."
He pulled a face, but quickly reconsidered upon noticing her looking at him severely.
"I love strawberry sorbet," he stated with faked conviction. "Especially with Bavarian Weißbräu..." he added muttering, defiantly digging his spoon into the bowl.
"Harper says it's delicious."
Dylan nodded resigned.
"No kidding..." he confirmed, taking another mouthful while longingly throwing a furtive glance at his drink from the corner of an eye. Taking mercy on him, Beka pulled the bowl away from him.
"But then again," she considered laughing, "Harper also considers Ngooian sepia in coconut sauce with garlic served with iced Sparky-Cola to be a culinary highlight..."
Dylan watched her open-mouthed.
"You are kidding," he stated, unable though to repress a slight shudder.
Beka grinned.
"Yes, I am," she admitted. "It's chocolate sauce he likes to go with it... So, say: no stories with pigs, dragons and princes?" She shook her head annoyed. "Didn't they teach you boys anything at that High Guard Academy?"