Her body was warm and fit perfectly beside his on the bed, so small they had to huddle together to fit properly. The apartment had never heated well, but it hadn't mattered last night because her warmth had enveloped him. Warmth like beach sand on a summer day after swimming for hours in the ocean, or like a fire in the fireplace of a ski resort after a long afternoon of soaring down hills and crashing into pillows of snow. Warmth that seemed both feverish because he'd never held a woman so warm, and natural because it belonged to her.
The fog of sleep had lifted just shy of eight hours after his head hit the pillow. Sleep might have returned, it was still early and Trance was extra cuddly, but his ribs ached and the pressure of laying on his side made his freshly healed skin feel too tight. So, he'd given up and lain awake for an hour in his discomfort, listening to Trance's breathing and letting his mind wander over yesterday's events and what they meant for today and the future, her skin against his a reminder that everything and nothing were the same anymore.
If he were to go to his door and peek outside, or open one of the tiny windows, the sky would be grey with a glow on the horizon promising to light up the world in blinding white as the morning stretched on, like it had on snow days in Boston. But he didn't move. Physical exhaustion added comfort to the hard mattress and scratchy blankets the way hunger added seasoning to food, and he couldn't tear himself away from Trance, marveling at the feel of her—solid, and soft, and there.
Usually at this point in the morning, whether it had been sex or the simple comfort of sharing a bed with another, he'd sneak away, desperate not wake his partner, the proverbial sight of the sun being his cue to go before awkward breakfasts and questions like, "Where do we go from here?" But he'd taken the sun with him to bed last night and had no intention of running away. She'd find him anyway, backed by the power of two angry captains and a nosy warship. Talk about awkward.
She hadn't moved since he'd woken, not even when he'd brushed tangled curls from her face so he could see the way her long eyelashes brushed her cheekbones, and observe the structure of her face in the shadows of the nightlights. Whatever ghosts that haunted her sleep had stayed away, giving her peace for once. At some point she'd stolen the blanket—or he'd given it to her. It was hard to tell. The greyish thermal fabric was wrapped around her like a cacoon while it covered only half of him, the half where bare chest pressed up against a slender torso covered in only a thin tank top, and where their legs were all tangled up together.
The chronometer ticked on. He'd periodically checked the time, stored it away and wondered how minutes kept slipping away when the only thing occupying his mind was watching Trance sleep, but slip away it did, and now it was time to get up and get ready to return to Andromeda. He reached out and brushed her cheek again, applying more pressure this time than he allowed his hand to wander down under the blanket to her upper arm and gave it a squeeze. Her eyes moved beneath her lids and her lips twitched, but her body remained still.
He smiled, squeezed her arm again, and shook. "C'mon babe, we've gotta get back to Andromeda. Shoreleave's over and you know who they're gonna blame if we go AWOL."
The cutest pout formed on her lips though she kept her eyes shut. With a whoosh, the blanket pulled away from him and flew over her head. "You're lying."
He reached out and pushed up the dial to light the room enough to banish the shadows then tugged the blanket down again, overcoming her half-hearted resistance. "Wish I were, darlin', but it's 0600. We're supposed to be inbound by 0700 local time. I let you sleep as long as I could."
As if the light had triggered the day to begin, his mind ticked off a list of things he needed to do, and none of them involved lazing around in bed, or even remaining on Tarn Vedra. He'd have to arrange repairs to the bar from space with a thirteen-hour time delay, a major annoyance, but it was his own fault it needed to be repaired in the first place. The Triumvirs were expecting the entire crew to show up this evening, bright eyed and smiling, to be paraded around as heroes. He'd rather pull the blanket back over both their heads, snuggle up close, and hide out beside Trance until it was over.
Perhaps he'd like being lauded as a hero more if he felt he'd done something particularly heroic? He hadn't. They'd all done the same thing—worked to stop the entire Universe from crashing down around them because who the hell else would do it? Fight and maybe die or don't fight and definitely die. Not much of a choice. Sure, maybe before Seefra he'd stuck around on the Arkology and fought to the bitter end. Some might call that heroic, but if they didn't stop the Magog there, the monsters would have infested the known Galaxies and taken everything with them.
A single eye popped open, accompanied by a groan. "I don't believe you."
Right. Time to try something different. He closed the distance between their noses and pressed his lips to hers, heart speeding up, part of his brain saying that despite her presence in his bed arguing to the contrary, his advances wouldn't be welcomed.
They were.
Her return was slow at first, sleepy and lazy, but it didn't take long. He adjusted so that he was hovering over her, leaning on one elbow with his other arm cradling her close, knees digging into the mattress. She rose partway to meet him, arms circling around his neck. An entire universe could have exploded into life and he wouldn't have noticed anything more than what was happening right there with his head spinning from shared oxygen, the mustiness of sleep and sweat still permeating the room, and the sheer closeness of her. She was all smooth skin and sharp bones, goosebumps and sweet little sighs. She was also awake now and those active hands that never sat still for long were exploring, setting fire to his skin where her fingers danced. A gentle escalation, and one that left him acutely aware of the locations of both the neckline of her top and the waistband of her shorts. How easy it would be to shift position again, free up his hands, and take this whole thing one step further.
But dammit, he was an adult, and that took the fun out of everything.
Responsible adult Harper—with his traditional horrible timing—reminded him they had to be in the air in less than an hour and the subtle ache in his side chimed in to say his ribs needed to heal at least another six hours before any activity Trance might deem as 'strenuous'. This wasn't their first rodeo. He sure hoped what followed the removal of clothing would be strenuous, so he pulled away with a heavy sigh, gazing at her from above. She stared into his eyes, hers half closed in a blend of sleepiness and desire.
"You have my attention," she said breathlessly.
His small brain egged him on. Who cares about responsibility? Just pick up where you left off, keep going. She's into it, you're into it, what's the problem?
The problem was that best case scenario they'd send Beka in to get them. Worst case? Dylan would come himself. Neither the merciless teasing Beka would force them to endure, or the fatherly lecture on responsibility from Dylan seemed like a fun way to spend the afternoon. He rolled off to the side and offered a lopsided smile as he sat up, "So, it wasn't a dream?"
Taking his lead, she sat too and winced, a hand shooting to her forehead. Her lips curled and nose wrinkled, complexion paling. She swallowed hard. "Nope, no dream. Unless dreams come with bad hangovers."
Ouch. Good of an excuse as any to climb out of bed and do something other than think about the proximity of her amazing body, the shape of which he could still feel against his palms. He padded over to the medkit and pulled out two of the pills she kept tucked away in there, mostly for him, and mostly without Beka knowing since Beka thought hangovers were just rewards for drinking too much. Next, the stasis box for a glass of filtered water. She'd turned so her legs were hanging off the side of the bed and he sunk down beside her. "I don't know if these'll work for you, but the water will help, at least."
Out of his hand she took one pill and the water, returning his smile. "It should be fine if I just take one, and I'll probably feel a lot better. Thanks."
The reason for her hangover, aside from a not-entirely uncharacteristic bout of poor decision making moved in between them and made itself comfortable, like a little dog butting in with its tail wagging and tongue lolling out. She drank down some water and swallowed the pill. He tossed the other in his mouth instead of returning it and motioned for the glass. There was a fogginess in his brain and a sourness in his stomach that said he, too, had gone a little overboard on the alcohol yesterday. He'd gone a little overboard on just about everything.
He set the cup on the headboard. "I'm sorry, again, for all that crap I gave you yesterday, for hurting you like that. I won't do it again."
She placed a hand on his leg with an expression that wasn't quite a frown, but far from a smile. "You will."
It was a statement with the power of knowing behind it. Said any other way, he might have grown defensive, but his brain couldn't figure out how to respond to this: the proclamation of a woman who'd confessed she loved him, confessed she wanted a relationship, yet believed so firmly he'd hurt her. She squeezed his leg, tilting her head, the inscrutable expression growing more so. "It's okay, it is not something you think about doing; you never do it on purpose. It happens when you're cornered and angry and it always has."
A need for more connection drove his hand to hers. "I don't want to hurt you. I—I love you."
For a phrase with so much weight behind it, so much meaning, it tumbled out with no preamble. He'd thought the words would stew for a while, roll around inside his skull until the right moment, like in the movies. Shouldn't they be harder to say now that he meant them? But they'd slipped out as if telling her he loved her were the most natural thing in the Universe. As if it were something that should be said. So he said it again. "I love you."
She placed a soft kiss on his lips. Those piercing eyes searched his soul again, bared it between them out in the open when it was supposed to be buried deep inside, and he couldn't figure out how she kept coaxing it out over and over again. "I love you too, Seamus. You, as you are and as you have always been. I've seen the dark and scary places and I love you still; you aren't a stranger. I know you will try, and that means everything."
The words hung in the air, and he was stunned silent. He could see there were words stuck in her head, fighting her. The hand he wasn't holding worried away at the sheets, picking at them and rolling them between her fingers. Slender legs kicked back and forth. Finally, shoulders rolling with a deep sigh, she spoke again, "I was unkind yesterday as well. I aimed to hurt with my words because I was hurting, and I'm sorry. It escalated because I could not walk away."
"Kind of hard to walk away when you were trying to patch up my sorry ass, and I was being a jerk about it."
Without a reply, she leaned over him, affording him a stunning view of the curve of her neck and spine, as well as a taunting bit of bare skin where tank top parted from shorts. He took a deep breath, and then another. This wasn't the time for this. Seriously.
Okay, ship schematics—Andromeda's engines run off of a reaction between hydrogen and antiproton...
When she sat again, she held the leather pouch he'd seen her remove from her coat pocket and place next to his toolbelt on the floor last night. She opened it and pulled out an injector, extending it to him. "I wanted to show you something."
He took it and read the digital label, Natraxitine. "What is it?"
"It's a very low dose of a fast acting anti-anxiety medication."
A fast acting anti-anxiety medication. Fast acting—like for panic attacks. It surprised him both that she'd turned to medication and that he hadn't considered she would. She watched him, eyes unblinking. This was one of those moments where she wanted him to come to a specific conclusion on his own. She'd given him the outline and wanted him to connect the dots. It always made him feel like a kid again with his mother quizzing to see if he'd read his history texts.
"For panic? Has it happened since…" he trailed off. Dumb question. He'd seen her face last night before she stormed out the door.
She confirmed, eyes unwavering. "Only once. The medicine helped me control the anxiety, so it didn't control me, so I could get somewhere safe and calm down."
There was an emphasis on the word control. His heart ached physically as his imagination started running through everything that could have gone wrong last night.
Damn him and his big mouth running off at all the wrong times, hurting those around him because he was angry. He'd never been able to control his anger because felt a hell of a lot better than the depression and self-pity that remained once it dissipated. The other emotions froze him, pulled him down, while anger pushed him to act. But last night was only one exhibit in a lifetime of evidence that anger pushed him to act blindly, caused him to lash out at those around him. It controlled him, not the other way around, and if he didn't learn to control it, he'd keep hurting her
The injector was cold in his hands as he realized what she'd wanted him to see. She'd wanted him to stop and think about consequences of his actions, to see the effect they'd had on her, because introspection wasn't one of his strongest skill sets.
"Sometimes what we feel is too much for us to handle on our own," she said as if she could sense his thoughts. "Trauma changes the brain, but I can't repair a lifetime of it without removing an essential part of what makes you Seamus Harper. It takes a lot of hard, painful work that has to be done mostly alone. I can make it easier, though, if you're willing to try. You have been carrying this weight with you for so long it is no wonder you are exhausted."
She kissed him again. "You can learn to control it and I know this because after everything you've been through, you can still love as deeply as you do."
Throughout the years, she'd offered to help and he'd never understood. He'd snapped back at the implication that she thought he was weak. He was a Harper from Boston, and Harpers were tough. They had to be.
But he'd had it all wrong.
He balanced the injector on his palm, then placed it in her hand, closing his fingers around hers when she took it. She was the strongest person he'd ever met; the women who'd stood unflinching before the Spirit of the Abyss multiple times, who'd watched her friends walk away from her without saying goodbye then sacrificed herself on the slimmest hope of saving them. She'd lost her memories and regained them only to lose half of herself and power beyond his ability to imagine. Yet she kept going. He could never think of her as weak, and she knew that.
Now he needed to show her that her faith wasn't misplaced, that he was strong, strong enough to accept her help.
He kissed her gently. "For you, I'll try. For you, I'd do anything."
Trance didn't look away from the console on her desk when Rommie entered. She remained focused, fingers tapping away, desk littered with flexis. In arms reach rested a teapot and half-empty cup, both steaming.
"Trance, I have your dress." Rommie kept her tone low, but Trance still startled.
"Oh, Rommie. I wasn't expecting you. I thought you were a bot."
A quick visual inspection showed that her time planetside had caused no harm. She seemed rested and healthy, and scans on her return had detected a couple of weak viruses, but her immune system was keeping up. All good news, but Rommie was more concerned with issues that didn't reveal themselves easily in scans.
"What are you working on so soon after returning?"
As Trance rose from her desk to greet her properly, Rommie removed the dress from the garment bag and laid it out on the bed. At least Trance didn't complain about needing to dress formally, not the way Harper and Beka did, even after all these years.
"I know I shouldn't be, but I was catching up on what is happening in the Tagris system. Things are not looking good there. We will need to intervene sooner than expected." She stepped up beside Rommie, looking down at the simple long-sleeved black dress with a delicate lace-overlay. It was both tasteful and appropriate for a formal award ceremony and a long ways away from the clothing she'd word when they'd first met. "You didn't have to bring this yourself. "
If it were the old days, her bots would have steamed and pressed dress uniforms instead of dresses and suits, but the Maru trio would balk even more at that than formal wear, though they were entitled to the uniforms. Only Dylan and Rhade would stand tall in their dress blues with the rest of the crew tonight and it struck Rommie with a strange sense of nostalgia and a longing for days past. The old days were long gone, though, and it didn't do to dwell on them when so much else required her attention.
"I wanted to touch bases with you after shoreleave, but first I want to reassure you that Dylan has been watching the situation in Tagris closely and the Triumvirate has been briefed on what is happening under the highest level of confidentiality."
Rommie watched Trance's expression carefully, picking up the subtle twitching of her eyebrow and tensing of her shoulders beneath her positive demeanor. Dylan had explained to Trance before that secrecy wasn't guaranteed that if there were any threat to the Commonwealth's security he would tell them about her people. Trance was wary, with good reason, of word getting out. Organics didn't always react well to what they perceived as threats. Rommie had to trust that the Triumvirs would guard the information for the good of the stars and their citizens, because if she couldn't trust the Commonwealth, what was the point of their battles to keep this fledgling society going?
Rommie suspected, though, that the discomfort was less about the leaders of the Commonwealth knowing about her people and more about them knowing about her.
Trance picked the dress up and held it to her torso then put it down, giving a forced smile. "It looks wonderful. Thank you. What was it you wanted to talk about?"
Subject change noted. Rommie would allow Dylan to unpack this situation with Trance later, he was much better at comforting than she was; it was one of the many traits that made him a good captain. She regretted that this subject wouldn't be any more comfortable. "I noticed when taking inventory of your medical supplies that a dose of Natraxitine is missing. Did you find it necessary to use it while on Tarn Vedra?"
With a little too much care and attention, Trance laid the dress back down on the bed, smoothing it out so there weren't any wrinkles. "I did. I caught the attack and the medication worked as expected. There were no side effects that I noticed."
After a moment in which she didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, Trance moved to a flowering bonsai set into an alcove. It wasn't as impressive as Trance's original bonsai, the one she'd carried with her from the beginning and lost at the Worldship, but it was healthy and aesthetically pleasing. She ran her fingers through the leaves then picked up a set of sheers resting beside the pot and clipped an errant branch.
Rommie stepped in beside her, hands behind her back. "Was the attack at all related to the other medical supplies and nanobots missing from your medkit?"
Trance was away again, back to her desk where she stacked and re-stacked the mess of flexis, before giving up with a huff and dropping the entire pile into a drawer. When she spoke, Rommie detected a hint of weariness. "Someone needed help, and I helped them."
Harper, of course. It wasn't just proximity to Trance or the process of elimination, accounting for the locations of the rest of the senior staff during their shoreleave, or even Trance's body language.
It was always Harper.
Concern for his safety was more a feature of her programming now than a reaction to external stimuli. No one could explain logically how he'd survived over thirty-years at the rate he found his life in danger. She might have believed the stories made up if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. As an AI, she didn't believe in luck; luck was something organics made up to make sense of what their inefficient brains couldn't process. Yet, statistically , Harper shouldn't be alive.
"Is this someone going to be alright?"
Trance sighed, turned around, and leaned her weight against the desk. "They will need more nanobots today, possibly tomorrow too, but will be back to their boundary pushing self in no time."
Good, the situation was under control, and since Trance hadn't mentioned Harper by name, she didn't need to let Dylan know. Humans needed to feel they could keep secrets from her, and she trusted Trance's judgement.
After a beat, Trance reached into the drawer and pulled out one of the flexis she'd thrown in there. She hesitated, then handed it off. "I haven't put the request into the computer yet, but I would like you to run an analysis on those medications with Harper's brain chemistry to figure out the best combination."
Rommie processed the list. "You're looking to tailor an antidepressant specific to his needs. I'm surprised, he's never expressed interest before, even after being prompted by both me and you."
Vehemently against even the suggestion of it was more apt, but less polite to say.
Trance smiled a true smile and winked. "I think he might be a little more willing to listen to me now."
Emphasis on me. A smile formed as Rommie processed the implications of Trance's words combined with her body language. Love, she'd seen and experienced in her own way, was a powerful emotion. It brought people together, gave them a reason to fight, and a purpose outside themselves. Love made people stronger and more capable of facing the challenges of difficult lives.
And the lives of her crew had been difficult for so many years.
"It was an eventful trip," she said.
Trance laughed and shrugged, "You could say that. Harper's never has done anything the easy way so I don't see why he would start now. To be honest, I still don't know what to think, but it feels better to have it out in the open. Thank you for giving me that little push."
"For what it is worth," Rommie said as she stepped up to Trance, reached out, and placed a hand on her upper arm in a very Dylan like move, "I am happy for you, for both of you. If it helps at all, I believe you've made the right decision."
"It means a lot Rommie."
With a squeeze, Rommie pulled away and clasped her hands behind her back once more. She closed her eyes as the mainframe pinged her.
"You should leave the Tagris system for another day and get ready. The Triumvirs and their entourage just informed us that their ETA is one hour. The ceremony will begin on time."
Trance's smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. "I'll be on time, and I'll make sure Harper is. Thanks again."
"You're welcome."
The entire crew had gathered together in one of the multi-purpose bays on the lower decks. Just over 500 people in their dress blues, sitting straight backed waiting for the senior staff to to arrive in a cavernous room re-decorated with greenery, drapes and candles. Ambassadors and representatives of the Commonwealth member worlds occupied two rows in front of his crew and at the very front a row of chairs covered in navy blue stood empty, a stage with an ornate podium stretched out before them with a handful of seats for the Triumvirs and their staff.
Tomorrow, the number of crew would more than double, and the next day, it would quadruple.
Those beside him didn't wear uniforms though they'd donned their Commonwealth pins for the first time since Seefra. They were solemn, standing bunched together in nervous silence. Rommie hadn't been able to get Beka in a dress, Dylan noted, and it brought a smile to his face, because the Triumvirs had insisted on doing this the "correct way" despite his protests, but they didn't understand that his crew did things their own way. Beka's navy pantsuit stood out as a minor protest and a testament to the willpower of a crew that had set out to do the impossible and succeeded—over and over again.
They'd wanted to do the entire ceremony at the Senate Center on Terazed with thousands in attendance, broadcasted for all the Commonwealth and beyond to see. They'd wanted to roll out the proverbial red carpet, show off the Restored Commonwealth's heroes for all the member worlds and prospective members to see.
He'd refused their politically motivated ceremony in favor of something much smaller. In a moment he wasn't proud of, but didn't regret, he'd even used Trance's illness to put a stop to their grandiose plans. As a part of his senior staff, he'd said, one of those being honored, it would be too much for her and too taxing on her immune system. At the time of planning, she'd been far worse off so it hadn't been a lie but he'd left out her remarkable recovery rate. Lie or not, it would have been too much—for all of them.
To his trained eye, the signs of stress were clear. Trance's hands clenched and unclenched at her sides as she stared straight ahead, and even a comforting hand on her shoulder did nothing to calm them. Beka's muscles were tightly coiled, ready to spring and opposite of her, Harper hadn't stopped moving, weight shifting from foot to foot, muscles twitching at every sound. Only Doyle, Rhade, and Rommie seemed alright, the first two calm and collected per their programming, the latter simply bored. As the Admiral of Terazed's Home Guard, he'd suffered through a career of events like these. Dylan hoped his calm would rub off on the others.
An echoing of footsteps in the hall caught everyone's attention and they turned to see the Triumvirs, led by Andromeda's security personnel. Tri Lorne and Tri Laurent moved in time with one another at the front, both familiar with Andromeda and her crew. Behind them, a new face, an ant-like Than-Thre-Krull by the name of Song of Summer Nights, her shimmering diamond colored carapace marking her as one of the ruling class. She was the first non-human or Nietzschean elected Triumvir since the Fall, another subtle sign that their alliance grew stronger every day.
"Tris Laurent, Lorne, and Song, welcome. I hope you've found your stay satisfactory so far?" Dylan asked.
"It has been most satisfactory. Your ship is remarkable," Tri Song said in the mechanical tone all Than possessed when speaking common. "Shall we begin?"
Dylan nodded. The Than were an efficient species that enjoyed process and order. No need to waste time dallying in the corridors. His crew's eyes were on him, waiting for his orders. The Triumvirs were his superiors, but his staff answered to him. He gave them a nod and a smile, hoping it would reassure them. As nervous as they were, they deserved this.
Rommie stepped forward into the room. A two toned buzz followed her and the crew's heads snapped around in unison. Her voice rang out, amplified automatically by the mainframe. "Captain on deck."
As one, the crew rose, snapped to attention, and turned with an audible snap to the doorway with their heads held high and shoulders back. He was proud of his crew even if he'd only known them for a few months. They'd worked hard and had faced every challenge as bravely as expected. This crew had faced down the Magog beside him, as new and green as they were, and this honor was as much for them as the people beside him.
That was his cue. He channeled his inner soldier, a part of himself that seemed more natural to him than most after so many years, and stepped into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others stand up taller, following his lead. He could always expect them to follow when it was important—and let him know when it wasn't. This was long overdue.
He marched to the first seat and the others took their places beside him, standing at attention facing the door. First Beka, by his side as first officer and then Rhade. Trance and Harper next, with Doyle and Rommie taking up the rear. Dylan smiled at Orlund, who'd been seated with the crew earlier. Once they were in place, Rommie announced the Triumvirate, who took to the stage to the sound of his crew turning as one to face the podium.
"Salute," Rommie called, and the anthem played.
Speeches came first. Long and filled with all the expected platitudes: an update on the state of the Commonwealth; praise for his crew, and short-sighted visions of a glorious future that glossed over the not-so-secret threat from Nietzscheans and the terrifying and confidential threat of rogue suns. No sense in sounding the trumpets of war so soon after their victory over the Magog. A beautiful illusion. A gossamer overlay for reality. Those beside him didn't buy it and he had to give Beka a subtle tap on the arm to remind her that the Triumvirs could see them and her huffs and eye rolls wouldn't go unnoticed—though he didn't blame her and he wouldn't discipline her for it, even if asked.
Then it was his turn. He didn't give a speech; he hated speeches. The picture of brevity, he thanked his crew for their dedication, their valor, for facing a Universe ending crisis with decorum, and then he turned to his senior staff. One by one he took velvet boxes from a table near the podium and passed them out. Inside, on satin linings, rested rank pins marking them as officers of the High Guard, a position they'd held for years without the official documentation.
He passed the first to Beka, a shining silver sun, keeping her captaincy intact. "I promise you don't have to wear a uniform and you still don't have to call me captain."
He gave Trance and Harper theirs at the same time and waited. They opened them and Harper's brow wrinkled. He looked to Trance's and back to his, his expression a blend of confusion and shock. Trance watched them both, thoughtfully.
Dylan stepped in to speed things along. "Something wrong, Mr. Harper?"
"Boss, you gave us Lieutenant Commander badges."
"I did." Dylan leaned in close, winked and lowered his voice. "You've been promoted."
"Really? Does it come with a pay raise?"
To say the entire room exploded in laughter would have been an overstatement, but not much of one. The thin line of tension that had stretched between his close friends since before the ceremony snapped. In true Harper fashion, he'd crashed through the barriers of expectation and reminded them that despite the Commonwealth and the High Guard staking a claim to them, they were still the same crew they'd always been: irreverent, undisciplined, resourceful, and loyal—a family nothing could break apart or change, not even politics.
The last two boxes belonged to Doyle and Orlund, both from Seefra, and both deserving of recognition and acceptance. With this pin, he made Doyle a full member of his crew, even if he didn't quite have a place for her yet. Orlund would return to Seefra, to the tunnels where he acted as a gatekeeper, guarding the leavings of Vedran society and the history of the planet. No one knew the tunnels better than he did, and Dylan had fought to keep him in his position. Because of that, when Orlund returned home, he would do so as a member of the High Guard—no more pretending. An additional, much larger box, accompanied his pin and when he opened it, tears formed in his brown eyes. Dylan glanced at Trance catching her smile nod of approval.
Orlund rested a palm on the uniform inside, looking as if he'd stepped right into the fairytale he lived inside his mind, a man being knighted by the sword of a king. "I won't let you down, Captain. I will honor this uniform with my life."
"I know you will."
The ceremony moved on. More velvet boxes, this time handed out by Tri Lorne, a smile on his unremarkable middle-aged face. When the Commonwealth had turned on Andromeda, Tri Lorne had remained loyal, had called Dylan his hero and fought beside them, the only politician willing to do the right thing. So it was him who awarded each of them with the Order of the Commonwealth for their bravery and dedication to the values of the Commonwealth. He moved through the team, placing silver medals around their necks and pinning the decoration on their collars, unabashedly proud.
The room remained silent as Tri Lorne took the podium and called for a moment of silence to honor all who'd lost their lives at the Battle of the Worldship.
Then the ceremony was over, so Dylan thought. Instead of the expected dismissal, Tri Song stepped up to the podium. "I would like to dismiss all officers and diplomats, but would like the senior staff to remain."
This hadn't been in the plan and Dylan could only shrug when his senior staff looked to him for answers. The rest of the crew marched out in straight lines, steps ringing in time. Those who didn't need to return to duty would attend the reception one deck up while the rest manned their stations. The Triumvir's staff followed the crew until only the seven of them stood facing the Triumvirs.
"We have one more award to give out. Andromeda, privacy protocol Argosy Alpha-Three-Seven-Nine," Tri Song ordered as she made her way down the podium, and Dylan's heart dropped into his stomach, eyes shifting to Trance. They hadn't informed him of any more awards and the Argosy protocol could only mean one thing in this context. "Trance Gemini, will you step forward?"
Trance looked to him for a moment, panicked, and he gave her a miniscule shrug and shake of his head, sure Trance could read the confusion in his eyes. A mask of composure smoothed out her features an instant later as she stepped forward.
"Captain Hunt has debriefed us at the highest levels of confidentiality on the events leading to the Worldship's destruction and the return of Tarn Vedra to the Known World. He could not leave your role in them out. First, I would like to reassure you that we all agree with the need for secrecy surrounding your people. You need not fear a breach in that confidentiality."
Damn them for not saying anything.
Trance remained statue-still, her eyes solidly on Tri Song. The string of tension surrounding the group returned. Harper fidgeted and twitched and seemed about ready to jump to Trance's rescue. The others cast nervous glances back and forth, the subject of the Lambent Kith and the source of Trance's sacrifices—the reasons for them—a taboo since she'd woken.
"We debated for some time over how to recognize you for everything you have done and all you have given up. So long, in fact, that Captain Hunt wasn't even informed of our intentions today. It didn't sit well to give you the Order of the Commonwealth and leave it at that, so today we present you with the Order of the Vedran Empress. I wish there were a higher honor as none of us would be here if it weren't for your actions. No one in the history of the Commonwealth has saved so many or lost so much in its service."
The weight of her words settled around them and made the room feel smaller somehow. Tri Lorne approached now with another box in his hands, his expression grave. A night with so many boxes, and this is the one that reminded them of the price of peace, that peace was a fragile thing at best and an illusion at worst.
Trance swallowed heavily, still frozen in place, as Tri Lorne hung the shimmering silver medal with its thick ornate ribbon around her neck and pinned a third pin to her collar. A tear slipped from her eye, shimmering as it drew its path across her cheek. Another joined it a moment later. He could see how tightly she held herself, how her composure hung by a thread.
The urge to protect and comfort was overpowering, but he couldn't protect her from her past.
With no fanfare, the ceremony ended. Trance stayed in place as the Triumvirs moved away and Harper leapt at her as if shot from a cannon, taking her by the arm and guiding her away.
As uncomfortable as things had been earlier, they couldn't compare to now. Beka spoke first clasping her hands in front of her, gaze darting towards the door. "I guess we, um, should head over to the reception. Heard the chefs have outdone themselves with dinner."
"I'll go with you," Rhade replied quickly, turning on heel. Doyle merely shrugged and followed shooting Dylan a lopsided smile for an apology.
Rommie placed a hand on his arm, stopping him from rushing to Trance.
"Why didn't they say anything?" he demanded, as if she had all the answers. She usually did, but it wasn't fair to expect it in this instance. "If they had, I could've—"
"You could have stopped them from giving her an honor she has earned, and one that will ensure the Commonwealth will do everything within its power to accommodate her needs and her career for the rest of her life?" Rommie interrupted, guessing his thought process, eyebrow raised. When she said it like that, it sounded ridiculous.
"I could've at least warned her, prepared her. I should go talk to her." He searched the room for where she'd gone, expecting her to have stayed for a moment to compose herself before heading to the reception. She'd smile and do what was expected of her no matter how upset.
Rommie shook her head, her gaze falling on something in the distance. "Harper has this tonight, it might be best if you wait to talk to her until tomorrow."
He followed her gaze. Harper had steered Trance to an area partially hidden by a potted tree and blue drapes. They stood face to face, too close to be anything but intimate. Harper spoke words too quiet for Dylan to hear, and as he did, he lifted a thumb and rubbed just below Trance's eye. She said something in return, and he cracked a joke. At least Dylan assumed it was by the smile that broke out in response. Then, Harper pulled her into an embrace that ended with a single tender kiss, as if no one else were in the room to see, every move filled with compassion and love—a gentler side of Harper that Dylan had rarely seen before.
"Huh. It finally happened." Because finally was the proper word here. He narrowed his eyes, looking back to Rommie, suddenly paranoid. "This did just happen, right?"
She smiled, looking close to laughter. "I think it happened on the planet."
Relieved, he allowed his own smile to surface, happy that they were happy, though he did have concerns both as captain and friend. He averted his eyes so that when the couple took notice of the wider world, they wouldn't catch him staring and shook his head. "Not that I didn't expect this to happen, but it's still a little hard to believe. I mean, it's Harper."
"It is indeed Harper, and oddly enough, I think that's part of the appeal."
Dylan laughed and placed a hand on Rommie's shoulder blade, motioning with his other hand to the door. "It usually is, Rommie. It usually is."
They left Trance and Harper behind to take their time. Dinner would wait on them.
"There, that's better," Trance said as she stepped into her quarters, Harper beside her. "Andromeda, lights at 45%."
The lights came on, illuminating the room, she allowed a soft sigh to escape. Everything was in its place, neat, orderly and comforting in its familiarity. Most of all, it was quiet and free from curious eyes and well-wishers.
She kicked her dress shoes off at the door, lining them up against the wall. Harper followed suit, leaving his boots toppled over with both socks hanging out of one of them. The suit jacket came next, along with the button up top over it, both dropped unceremoniously on top the row of footwear, hooks on the wall for the purpose of hanging coats ignored. Trance shook her head at the small mess, but no one could say she didn't know what she was getting herself into.
She crossed the room to her desk and her fingers moved to the pins attached to her collar, gently removing them. The last she held between her thumb and forefinger, tilting it back and forth, watching as the lights reflected off it—The Order of the Vedran Empress, the High Guard's highest honor and a reminder of everything she'd sacrificed to be here today. A bot had taken the heavy medal back to her quarters early in the evening.
"No one deserves that more than you," Harper said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, his cheek resting next to hers on her shoulder. He kept his voice low as if sensing her desire for quiet. She leaned back into him, pressing her back to his chest, deriving comfort from his presence. "Most people who get that award don't live to tell about it."
There was truth in his words. Another truth surfaced, one she didn't dare voice out loud to Harper because he was sensitive to mortality the way many humans were, the way she was learning to be. She should have been dead many times over by now. She hadn't planned to survive going supernova and almost hadn't. Yet here she was.
"I did not do what I did for recognition and I did not do it to martyr myself. I did it because it was the right thing to do because it needed to be done."
"Trust me. I read a lot of comic books as a kid. The best heroes are those who become heroes because they have to, not because they want to. The latter come off as assholes and aren't as fun to read about."
She laughed, marveling at how he could make her smile. With care, she placed the pin down beside the others. Three pins. Three pieces of her identity. Trance Gemini, official High Guard officer. Trance Gemini the brave. Trance Gemini, the one willing to lose everything for what she believed in. Who else could she be as her shortened life unfolded? Best friend? Lover? A strange sensation to not know what the future held. She turned in Harper's arms and he moved his hands so they rested on her hips. She closed her eyes and leaned in for a kiss before she pulled away again to study him.
Alcohol had painted his cheeks red and she imagined hers were much the same, based on the feel of them. A contented half smile pulled up one side of his mouth. His was a face that sported more wrinkles now than when she met him, but the imperfections had only added his charm. She touched his cheek, rough with late night stubble, and placed her other hand over his heart.
"I'm not a storybook hero," she said, afraid he would place her so high up on a pedestal she could never maintain his image of her as their relationship grew. She'd been on so many pedestals in her life she'd lost count and was sick of them.
"I don't think you get to choose whether you're a hero or not." Then, he changed the subject. "You think everyone knows about us now?"
She laughed, caressing his skin with her thumb. "I think everyone knew about us before we did. I hope they aren't too disappointed two of their guests of honor took off early."
"Just tell them the truth, you were tired and overwhelmed. No one will argue with you if you say you need to rest. In fact, they might trip over themselves making sure you're comfortable."
She frowned. Harper was full of uncomfortable truths tonight, and she wasn't in the mood for more discomfort. She wanted to hold on to the moments of happiness—dancing with Dylan and and Harper at the reception and watching Harper try to teach Doyle a two step. When that'd failed, he'd tried to convince Rommie to try, and it had been wonderful. She wanted to remember her friends' easy smiles and the taste of the food and expensive wines. All the moments before the congratulations of strangers, the lights, and the noise had become too much and she'd decided that the only place she wanted to be was a secluded room with Harper where she was free to drop all her masks and leave them scattered on the floor forgotten for a night.
Time to change the subject.
"Speaking of tired. I need to get off my feet, join me?" She winked and raised an eyebrow as she pulled away, moving right past the couch until she reached the bed where she took a seat, eyes on him. Harper stood where she'd left him, and she tilted her head, sending him a silent question. For a nano-second she thought she might have to make her intentions for this evening a little more clear. After all his talk and bravado throughout the years, and his action this morning, she hadn't expected him to hesitate. At least not at the point of initiation. Finally, he decided and sat down beside her. She twisted around so they were face to face.
His eyes scanned her face and then like she'd done to him earlier, he reached up and put a hand on her cheek.
"You are so damn beautiful." Then he slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. Her heart sped up before their lips met, and a nervous energy washed over her accompanied by a powerful need to be closer to him, to close the gap between them.
He must have thought the same, because he wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her to him, trapping her arms between them, until they were a strange puzzle of limbs, and torsos and hips that somehow fit together perfectly.
The first kiss was barely a peck, the touch of a butterfly lighting on her skin. In the next, she could taste the wine on his lips, smell the blending of cologne, soap, and machine oil that clung to him. A scent uniquely Harper, and one she couldn't get enough of. She breathed it in, her exhalation coming out as a sigh as his fingers brushed up her neck and danced along her scalp, awakening every nerve ending, sending chills down her spine. He moved in for a third now. More urgent. More imploring. An exploration. One she returned it in kind, memorizing the shape and feel of his lips and the way his stubble scraped at her cheek.
She pressed her palms to his chest, then moved them with purpose towards his sides not lifting them until they found the hem of his shirt. Her hands slipped under the fabric and she pushed his shirt up, needing to get to his bare skin, to feel it against hers. The fuzz on his chest reacted to the feverish heat of her hands, rising to attention against her palms.
He grunted in protest when she pulled away from his kisses, but caught on quickly enough, helping her with his top, dropping it to the floor beside the bed before catching her lips with his once more. Now his hands were on her back and then brushing against the sides of her breasts, down to her stomach before exploring the curve of her waist and hip bones. Further down they moved, along her thighs, searching for the end of her dress. The energy built around them until her nerves quivered with it.
Harper hesitated, his hand hovering at the end of her dress. "Not that I haven't dreamed about this for years–" he started, voice cracking.
She'd expected this, had been waiting for when his insecurities rose to the surface. She cut him off with a kiss—slow, purposeful and absent the passion she'd displayed just a moment before. Sensing the change in her, he kept his peace, giving her the floor.
"If you are going to ask me if I am sure about this, don't. You either need to trust I can make my own decisions, or trust you are worthy of being loved." This kiss, too, was gentle and sweet, a physical affirmation of her words. "I meant what I said this morning; I love you and I have for a long time. This is what I want."
For a beat, he didn't move, just watched her in awe. Then he too leaned in for a gentle kiss, and in it she could feel the power of his love, and understood that he'd carried it with him as long as she had, a coal buried beneath the ashes, tucked away after she'd denied the first sparks of romance.. He'd never smothered that tiny bit of fire.
"I love you, too."
Her world became a series of impressions after that. Warmth and skin. Breathless sighs, and the occasional giggle with the discovery of a ticklish spot. Soft kisses on her neck. Her hands exploring the contours of his body as his explored hers, each of them experimenting and memorizing each other's reactions, learning what worked and what didn't.
Afterward, they lay sleepily together, arms and legs entwined, chests rising and falling together, her heart pounding out a strong and lively beat inside her chest. Though tired, she hadn't felt so alive in months.
"There's no going back now," he said pressing his lips to her forehead.
With effort, she opened her heavy eyes and gazed at his smiling face, peaceful and fully relaxed for the first time in months. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the chronometer. It was after midnight. "I would not want to. Happy Birthday."
"I think it's going to be the best one yet," he replied with a kiss.