Disclaimer: Andromeda belongs to others.

Set after Pieces of Eight.

Damn him!

For hours she had done nothing than roaming the streets of that pathetic drift left in disarray after Citizen 8's thorough... dismissal. Which was just as well: it suited her mood.

It was way past midnight and she had been stuck in this bar for at least the past three hours. She used to do that often in former days, before the Andromeda, before... before him... And she'd been doing it from time to time even after she joined the Commonwealth flag ship, sometimes even with him. And now that he was gone she felt like going back to the old ways. Why not? It wasn't as if she needed him to do that.

She was seated at the counter. Two tables away, in the dim shadows of the obscure bar was an equally single, huge, proud, harsh looking Nietzschean female. She was a strange sight, busy with her drink. Vegetable juice or something else equally healthy... she thought ironically, her gaze measuring the amazon up, images of her being ‚his new one' slicing through her drunken mind. Did she even care? All of a sudden she stood up on wobbly legs and approached the Nietzschean's table:

„You leave him alone!" she heard herself slurring out, almost in spite of herself. The woman wearing a badge indicating that she belonged to Baltan Pride, turned lazy eyes on her, the thought ‚stupid human' plastered all over her ironic smile.

„You out of your mind, kludge?"

She felt her cheeks burning hot... and backed off towards the exit. Picked up wandering the streets, with him constantly on her mind once more: the way he used to train her, teach her, loom over her in that protective, slightly overbearing manner of his:

„I thought you said you couldn't be with a human female... Not in a million, million, million years?"

„I did say that... To you."

Damn' him. Damn' him! And they never had been together. They had just been... close. Much too close, as she now knew. Would she really have liked to be with him? She was too tired, too hurting and too drunk to find the proper answer to this question... All she knew was that she had cared. That he had cared. For her. For all of them. And now no longer did.

The memories began to slowly take over as she entered another shabby bar, seating herself with her back turned to the entrance, deliberately ignoring what he had taught her, as if in doing so she could ignore the void he had left behind. And yet, as she started sipping on yet another burning, cheap liquor, her ears were prying for the doors to open, to reveal... What? Attackers? Foes? Him?

And she remembered: the way he checked her diet, her work-out, if she slept enough, stayed clean and sharp and focused. If she read the things he wanted her to read... Observing, controlling... looking out for her. Present. Constantly there for her. Sometimes too much there, but at least there. For her.

From time to time, more often than not she wanted more freedom. Well, she had it now. She would never have fitted in into the perfectly controlled, ordered, focused, disciplined world of his. That she now would never know – and would forever miss. Like she missed him.

The doors at her back never opened, their silence mocking her. Her eleventh drink and... what do you know? about her seventeeth Venceremos tobacco-cigar. Old-fashioned, but effective when it came to blurring one's senses. She hated smoking. And drinking. However it was exactly this what she just needed right now. If only... If only there would have been someone around telling her to stop.

And then there it was: the soft hiss she had been waiting for. She closed her eyes. Of course, it would be just another lost figure in search for some comfort hidden on the bottom of a glass. Or someone looking for trouble. Or...

For a moment she imagined him, imagined herself turning around, throwing herself at him, telling him... What? A quickly suppressed sob hurt deep in her throat.

Damn', I love you... Nah, I never did!

But I need you... No. No, I don't need you either. I need no-one. I...

I want you... No. No. NO! I don't want you! I just... I want you to hold me... I don't want to...

She placed the glass down on the table with a loud, violent move.

„I don't want to lose you!" she whispered, tears shooting into her eyes.

The turmoil within her had kept her from noticing that the doors had hissed once more. The first time around she hadn't even seen who had come in. And this time she missed everything altogether until a tall, dark shadow fell on her table.

Tyr! she thought for a moment.

A hand pushed down on her shoulder, while another shoved the half-empty glass away. Broad, strong, long-fingered, determined hands. Like his. But not. Dylan... The hand on her shoulder moved down under her arm, gently heaving her up, steadying her.

„Come on, Beka! Stopt it. You've had more than enough. Let's get you out of here..."