2. Strained relations

"You want me to do what?"

To say that Dylan Hunt was staring in surprise at his chief engineer would have been the understatement of the week. In all of the Three Galaxies.

"You have got to be kidding, Harper! On a personal level Beka is free to see whomever she wants, whenever she wants it – and I'm about the last person likely to succeed in telling her otherwise." He threw the shorter man a weighing look, then shrugged. "Okay, maybe the last but one. Still..."

"Dylan, you don't get it..."

"Oh, I get it all right! You're jealous, Mr. Harper. And knowing you, I suppose that you already had one or two... rather unfortunate things to say about it all to her – and maybe even him?" the captain asked pointedly, then nodded upon seeing the Terran hang his head. "Yeah, it figures. And now, that you've put yourself into Beka's hot seat, you find it uncomfortable and want me to join you. Read my lips, Harper: no way! I like my head the way it is: firmly attached to my shoulders, thank you very much!" He turned around to leave, but then stopped: "Besides: I know Ka, he's a nice guy, he wouldn't hurt her in a million years. I know that she likes him and that he likes her, too..."

"And if this for once nice guy likes her too much? Have you thought about that?"

Dylan looked at him, doubtful.

"What do you mean?"

Harper blew up his cheeks, then slowly let the air out from a corner of his mouth. Hands in his rear pockets, he shrugged helplessly.

"What if he's really nice? And means it? What if he... I don't know... proposes or something? What if she says yes? I mean... He's pretty smitten with her, Dylan..."

The older man frowned.

"Just 'cause one's... 'smitten with her', doesn't mean he'll propose. I mean, it's been just a few hours. And of course he's smitten with her. What's there to not be smitten with? They all are. You are, I am. Hell, even Tyr is – much as he might hate it."

Harper looked pretty much taken aback.

"You... you admit it?"

A lopsided grin appeared on Dylan's lips, while – hands in his rear pockets – he too began to slightly wiggle around uncomfortably.

"If you quote me on that, I'll deny it. And I'll give you a spanking!" he warned. Harper grinned back at him.

"Remind me when this is over to get jealous of you, too..."

Dylan shook his head.

"I doubt it you will ever have any reason for that."

"What? Come on, big guy, don't sell yourself short. If there is one person Beka thinks the world of, that's you... You must have noticed! To her you're Mr. Perfect, always right, no flaws..."

"Ha!" Dylan exclaimed ironically. "No flaws?"

Harper laughed up.

"Okay, maybe one or two... At most!"

"Yeah, you're probably right on that," the captain retorted with a sarcastic smile. "Not more than two flaws: everything I say... and everything I do."

"Yeah..." Harper acquiesced, "I noticed that she seemed not entirely happy with you over the past month or so. What did you do?"

"The usual," Dylan sighed. Harper furrowed his brows in deep thought.

"You didn't crash the Maru, you didn't insist on talking to people wanting to shoot us, you didn't make her baby-sit some stupid Commonwealth high-brow or other, you didn't get anyone of us or yourself hurt, you..." he enumerated, counting down on his fingers.

"No," Dylan interrupted with another sigh. "But I denied her permission to leave with the Maru, to... help Rafe on some... genial plan of his..."

"Oh," the Terran nodded understandingly, but for once not sounding anything like his usual smart self. "That must have been fun..."

"Yeah," the captain confirmed dryly. "A funny story. Hilarious, really..."

"You're joking! You can't deny me permission to leave!" Beka shouted outraged.

"I not only can, I am doing it!" Andromeda's captain shouted back while hitting the door-lock, closing the entrance to his quarters before any passers-by could get a chance to gather with open mouths in the corridor outside and start placing bets.

Beka tried to reign in her fury.

"Dylan," she began in a voice strained by her struggle for composure, "he is my brother, he has this cargo-run to make that he needs my help with, everything is perfectly legal, no catch, no problems, nothing. And that's the whole truth of the matter, pure and simple."

"When Rafe is concerned, the truth is never pure – and hardly ever simple," he contradicted her in a stubborn tone.

"Yes, but this time..."

"This time things will go south. Again."

"Why?" she shouted at him, suddenly deciding that calmness in a debate with Dylan Hunt was highly overrated. "Just because you say so?"

"No, because they always do," he replied firmly, although refraining from reaching her impressive decibel level.

"Dylan, he is my brother, he needs me..." Beka changed tactics, hoping to take him by surprise. He was surprised all right, but not surprised enough. Two could play at the game.

"Beka," he approached her, sounding almost pleading, "we are your ship, your crew, your friends... We need you, too..."

It didn't work. She stepped out of his reach and looked at him defiantly.

"Yes," she retorted. "And you have me, all the time, day and night, whenever you need me. Just now he needs me more..."

He'd been in enough combat situations to know failure when he saw it. Still, he refused to give in.

"If everything is so... perfect, what's he needing you for? Beka, look, I don't doubt your ability to..."

"Oh, cut the crap, Dylan. You doubt my every ability by assuming that you have the right to decide for me on such matters. I've saved your sorry ass more times than you can count, so stop patronising me as if I were some kind of child or your baby-sister!"

"I am not patronising you!" he disagreed. "And I am not treating you like my baby-sister. I'm treating you like a friend. Rafe's schemes are always crazy and dangerous and, even when legal, more than just a bit shady. And I don't want to see any friend of mine hurt by his machinations."

"Well, then you must not forget to tell those friends of yours so. But after you're done telling, don't forget that they are entitled to make up their own minds and that you cannot assume authority over their decisions."

"You're not just my friend, you're also my XO. Like it or not: I have more authority over you than I would have if you were my wife," he shouted at his wits' end.

Her eyes darkened, but before he could react to it, her hand had closed around the coffee-cup on his desk. With a quick, fluent move she emptied its hot contents right into his face.

"Ah!" he shouted, staggering back and wiping at his eyes. "Are you crazy?"

"Count your blessings, Dylan. Had I been your wife, this coffee might have been poisoned."

"Yes," he yelled back at her, "and had you been my wife, I would probably be grateful for it being poisoned and offering an easy way out and away from you!"

"She's hardly spoken to me ever since."

It was true. And much as he could take hysterics and shouting, outbursts of rage and deafening disagreements: he simply couldn't stand the silent treatment. His mother had used it, mastering it to perfection – and whenever he got submitted to it, Dylan began to feel again like a stupid, little boy caught red-handed. A feeling he truly detested, especially when he thought himself in the right. How Beka had found out that this was the best way to get to him, he had no idea. But she had. And she, too, had turned out excellent at it. While under normal circumstances they could go hours, sometimes even a day or two without seeing much of each other, ever since she had decided that he no longer was worthy of her conversation, she had begun to be almost omnipresent. Whatever rooms he entered, what turn he took, what deck he walked: he kept bumping into her, tried to talk, received an impenetrable, polite smile while she listened in silence, before walking off again with a quiet: "Whatever you say, Dylan!" By the end of two weeks he had reached the end of the rope. That was why he had send them off to fetch Man Ka-Lupe.

"So you see, Harper, whoever she might be willing to listen to," he concluded, "that one won't be me."