TITLE: The Long and Winding Road (Note: work in progress)

RATING: PG-13

CHAPTER: NINE

AUTHOR: L. C. Brotherton

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any portion of Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda. I just like to bring some of these characters out to visit my playground and promise to put them back when we've finished our game. No money has been made as a result of this fan's creation.

REVIEWS/FEEDBACK: Yes, please!

ARCHIVING? Fine by me. Just email me and let me know where my work will be stored.

SPOILERS: At this point, anything from Season Two on is fair game as a spoiler.

The Long and Winding Road: Chapter Nine

A torrent of confused contemplation threatened to drown Beka. She needed time and some distance from this intensely unexpected situation, some breathing room to sort things out.

For more than two years she had served aboard Andromeda with Telemachus Rhade. During that time she had: admired his military strategies, fought by his side, been possessed by the spirit of the Abyss and nearly succeeded in killing him with her bare hands, hated him for the fact that he was Nietzschean, been amused by his inability to bend rules she simply refused to acknowledge. She knew she'd be surprised if she could even come close to guessing how many hours she'd logged with him in the Maru on yet another of Dylan's idealistic pursuits of one nature or another. She was shocked to realize that she couldn't even list five details regarding his private life, prior to his joining the crew—and it wasn't for lack of trying.

Rhade's impressive and extensive military records were immediately available upon request through any of Andromeda's vast databases. Precious little was recorded with regard to his non-military existence beyond basic facts such as Tarazed was his home world and he fell under the species category of Nietzschean. In two years, Beka had been able to personally glean little more information from Rhade himself. The many "No Admittance, Trespassers Will be Prosecuted" notifications posted on the locked hatches of various drifts had always elicited a rebellious urge in her to storm right inside and see whatever it was that someone had barred from public view. Beka sensed on many occasions the obvious "No Admittance" warnings plastered all over any aspect of Rhade's past and very private life. Those warnings only served to pique her curiosity, creating a gnawing hunger for the information he wouldn't share with them.

A lifetime ago, or perhaps only a year ago, aboard the ill-fated ship called Arkology, Beka had been given the tiniest glimpse beyond the barriers she so desperately wanted to breach. Rhade's involvement with the Nietzschean woman, Louisa Messereau, sparked unexpected feelings deep within Beka that shocked her. She felt betrayed by his attraction to the woman, and felt somehow overlooked when it was apparent that Louisa was likewise attracted to Rhade. Beka could suddenly categorize every positive aspect of Rhade's character, and was hard-pressed to recall any disagreeable traits that he might have carried. By the time Beka realized that she might have romantic intentions of her own toward the man, and that she had probably been in denial of said intentions for at least six months—she realized the opportunity was lost.

Then came the Magog Worldship and the sudden destruction of Arkology. Trance's desperate bid to save the Andromeda and her crew by hurled them all through the unexplainable Route of Ages. Granted, she had managed to save all their lives in the process, but something had gone terribly wrong. They each found themselves estranged from one another in an entirely different star system. Lost and alone, various lengths of time passed before they were reunited, if one could call the haphazard way they all reformed into a loose group with semi-common goals. Beka was saddened for a long while to realize that each of her companions was a different person than they were before it all happened, herself included.

However, she'd had a bizarre epiphany only last week while she was returning from a supply run to Seefra-4. She'd been absently considering their situations—which had become a recent hobby of hers—listening to yet another broadcast from the mysterious Virgil Vox, when it happened.

"This next song goes out to a lovely pilot with hair like the sun--the one not threatening to blink out of existence, and take us all with it. These are confusing days for all of us, contemplating our journeys through life and the way time changes us.

"A thought for the day, my friend, perhaps it's only the journey itself that changes, although the destination remains the same. Remember when you travel that strange road ahead, you sometimes have to be refined by the fires on the wayside before you can realize your true worth."

With that, a mellow jazz montage followed, and Beka's mind began to coalesce around the words that had been broadcast through the illegal communication. She found herself examining herself very closely since that time, scrutinizing her actions and reactions to everyone and everything around her, trying to estimate their value and worth in the scheme of things. She began to see her former crewmates in a fresher, more appreciative light. Then in a very gradual and subtle way, that aggravating desire returned, and she found herself often idly imagining about Rhade and what secrets he was keeping from all of them. It irritated and fascinated her in equal measure.

Trance had raised her eyebrows at Beka more than once recently when she'd caught her friend daydreaming, lost in her thoughts. "Beka, where are you?" she'd ask with a puzzled laugh.

Beka would make some lame excuse about something she was completely NOT thinking about—an AG drive tuning Harper was scheduling for the Maru, what outfit Doyle would wear next—but she always had the nagging impression that Trance knew the directions in which her mind was wandering. She wasn't sure which embarrassed her more--the realization that she was attracted to Telemachus Rhade, or the fact that she was feebly trying to hide it from a woman who had at one time possessed the ability to traverse multiple realities.

Before the Seefran madness, Beka had been relatively certain that a certain Nietzschean commander might have reciprocated those feelings. Now, in the midst of the Seefran madness, she was only slightly less certain that her expression of romantic intentions might be spurned. Even when he swam in a drunken haze, Beka detected a certain smoldering fire in his dark eyes. Days, ago she'd decided that when the moment was right, she would approach him and hopefully find him in a state approaching sobriety, and spill the beans about the way she felt. If things went badly, she could always blame him for being a stupid drunk and dismiss the entire notion. It was a perfect plan, one that still presented her with a safety net for her fragile emotions and sense of self-worth if it turned out that she was sadly mistaken about his feelings toward her.

Only one thing marred that perfect plan. It was battered and bruised, crusted in grime, and Telemachus Rhade had carefully wrapped it in a blanket and carried it like some priceless broken treasure from her very own Eurka Maru right into Medical. It had a name--Stasia, from the Destroyer of Carefully Plotted Safety Nets, Out of Rhade's Very Private Life Before Andromeda.

"Your timing really sucks, Valentine," she thought to herself. "This outranks anything in Harper's Elevated Scale of Suckitude. Shoulda shared that secret just a couple days earlier, before Rhade went off with Dylan, huh? Coulda, shoulda, woulda…it's a done deal now."

"…careful as you stand up," Trance's words leaked into Beka's brain in a strange echo. The golden Avatar looked expectantly at Beka as Stasia's bare feet tested the deck plating below them. "Are you feeling all right?"

The Nietzschean woman shut her eyes and swallowed hard. Her knees buckled beneath her. With the reflexes that had earned her bragging rights in a variety of barroom games of skill, Beka moved in a heartbeat and grabbed Stasia under the arms before she could fall. Beka was suddenly mortified to realize how light the other woman was, and realized with a start that she probably had been starved among the other abuses she had suffered.

"I'm sorry," Stasia murmured, trying to regain her footing. "I just got a little dizzy," she said.

Beka supported her easily, wrapping a spined arm around her neck, wrapping her own arm around the other's waist. "Just take it easy," she encouraged. "Just through that entryway, there's a steamy bath with your name on it."

"With wonderful medicinal bath oils," Trance added brightly as the entryway slid open and a fragrant puff of eucalyptus with aloe steam wafted out.

The two women helped her step into the tub of steaming, opaque water, and she wearily sank up to her neck. She let Trance pull the ragged shift off her, not caring that it caught on her bone blades and ripped in two. Trance tossed it in a trash receptacle with a vague look of dismay on her face as she noted the collection of dried blood on it, and then busied herself at a nearby counter.

"…to show such kindness to me," Stasia murmured sleepily, eyes closing as her chin started to slide under the water's surface.

"Hold on, sleeping beauty!" Beka yelped, making a grab for her. "Can't have you drowning in here; it'll give Trance a bad name in patient care, and the malpractice suits will be hideous."

Trance returned, gracing Beka with a grateful smile, tossing a couple of handfuls of jet-spraying nanoes into the water. After a moment, the opaque water churned lightly and bubbled, gently devouring dirt, leaving clean and freshly scrubbed skin and hair in its wake.

Despite her weary protests that she wanted to stay in the bath for three years or more, Trance and Beka managed to get her out and dried with fluffy towels. Beka was horrified by the massive amounts of bruising on the other woman's body, the deep lacerations, and other injuries. Embarrassed when she realized that she was staring, she tried to glance away while Stasia quickly slipped the huge nightshirt over her head and stepped into the sleep pants.

Ever watchful, Trance caught the deep-rooted pain in her friend's expression and smiled sadly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "The fires that refine us, Beka, burn hotter for some than others," she whispered.

Beka wanted to have a long conversation about that odd turn of phrase, but Trance indicated it was time to get her patient into a bed so she could rest. Beka kept her thoughts and questions to herself—for now. Like an obedient child, Stasia climbed into the bed Trance had made ready for her. With a peaceful smile, she was sliding into sleep as Trance pulled warm blankets over her.

"Andromeda, lights to 10, and alert me of any changes in my patient's status," Trance ordered quietly.

Beka paused for a moment and glanced back as she followed Trance out of Medical. The bio monitor cast an ambient glow over the sleeping Nietzschean, and Beka again wondered about the fires of refinement. Trance gently took her by the arm and pulled her along.