/I should really apologize to Harper./ Beka knew that she'd been… less than pleasant company for the past few days. Then again, he'd been whistling merrily when he'd entered the cockpit yesterday. But the upbeat tune had ceased after only a minute, stuck between her and Tyr. Maybe it was her imagination, but even Trance seemed a little quieter than usual.
/But what would I say to him? Oh, Harper, it's just that time of the month?/ Not true, of course—she was on birth control, and part of its charm was that she had no time of the month. But did Harper know that? Hmm. She smiled. He'd probably turn green, shrug and mutter something, and then suddenly remember an extremely urgent repair if she told him that.
No, she wouldn't lie to Harper, even about something as trivial as that. /Which brings us right back to the ol' drawing board./ Apologizing. To Harper, definitely. Well, maybe. She knew she'd been unreasonable towards everyone lately, and apologizing to Harper was one thing. Apologizing to Tyr… that was something else entirely. /Maybe you just don't want to be alone in a room with him in a capacity other than strictly business-like./ Or maybe it was just stupid Valentine pride.
"I'll give it a few more days," she told the flexi she held in her wounded arm. It was strong enough for that, at least. "Who knows? Maybe my arm will heal overnight, and I'll conveniently contract a case of short-term amnesia. That should just about take care of things."
Her door slid open, and she stiffened. Sneaking up on Beka Valentine really was never a good way to get on her good side. "I'm afraid I can do nothing for the arm, and I doubt very much that you would like my method of inflicting memory loss. I've heard it's quite painful." Tyr, naturally.
Beka's mellow mood vanished, and she could feel nervous tension seeping into her neck and shoulders. She had been lounging on her bed, flipping through bills and junk mail, but now she sat up and raised her eyes to the Nietzschean. "Lucky me." She noticed that he held something behind his back. /Oh, and what do we have here, boys and girls?/ "Why yes, Tyr, of course you can come on in. No, I'm not in the middle of anything. Yes, I'm decent. A chat? Sounds lovely. Please, have a seat." Oh well. No one had ever claimed Beka to be much of a diplomat and for good reason. And sit Tyr did, on the edge of her bed. /Proximity alert, proximity alert! Bogey of unknown intent approaching. Handle with extreme caution. Repeat, handle with extreme caution./
"I came by to apologize, Beka."
/Captain, we weren't expecting this maneuver! Shields are falling. If he keeps this up, we'll be defenseless before long!/
"Not for my words or my actions, but for the distress I seem to have caused you. Such was not my intention."
/Captain, what are your orders? Do we engage the bogey, or make an excuse about a previous plan to wash our hair tonight?/ Hmm, a decision indeed. /Captain, we need a course of action—a battle plan! We must… no!! We're too late! The bogey is armed! Defenses will soon be completely overwhelmed! He has red roses, repeat, red roses. And chocolate! We're doomed for sure, Captain. We have no chance of resistance against these kinds of weapons./
Beka took the flowers and breathed their sweet, sultry perfume. She smiled wryly and stood up to search her room for a vase or any hollow sort of cylindrical object. "You… it was bad timing, Tyr, that night. Very bad timing, but that's not your fault." Almost miraculously, she did find a vase. She turned and shot Tyr something of a grin. "Well, not completely your fault. And if those are caramel-filled, not your fault in the least." The closest source of fresh water was the head, conveniently located near the crew quarters. Beka employed the time it took to walk to the head, fill the vase, and return to put her thoughts in order. To try to put her thoughts in order. To ultimately fail to put her thoughts in order.
She felt Tyr's eyes on her immediately when she walked back into her quarters. It had always seemed like such a bad serial holo-romance cliché, to feel someone's eyes on oneself. But right now, Beka felt as if she were in one of those holo-novels she hid under her bed anyway, so maybe it was appropriate. "I was thinking about Bobby that night, and it is /not/ the best time to proposition me, when I've been remembering him." She leaned against her nightstand, hands behind her back and eyes downcast. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I know you weren't propositioning me. I just…" Beka glanced up. "Hey, hand me those chocolates, will ya?"
Tyr looked momentarily taken aback by this abrupt change of subject, but he recovered himself quickly and gave Beka the flat box. "Thanks." She bit one, and her eyes widened. "They /are/ caramel-filled. Whaddya know?" She swallowed and continued. "I know you're not a wham-bam, thank you ma'am kinda guy, Tyr. Believe me, I have vast experience with such shady characters; half of the people I run cargo for are one variety or another of shady characters. But like I said then, I'm afraid." She suddenly felt very tired.
"I'm afraid… you'll leave when this mission is over. Or when some gangster needs someone to carry out a whacking. Or when…" she paused and refused to let her voice crack. If she didn't know better, she /would/ imagine it was that time of the month, or that some medication was responsible for these uncharacteristic mood swings. "Or when you find someone else, someone different. Someone Nietzschean."
Beka made herself raise her eyes and saw… what? Confusion, hurt, anger, and indignation all danced across Tyr's perfect features. "Beka, you are not a… a second choice or some sort of contingency plan for me." He rose, walked toward Beka, and cupped her face in his hands. "You are beautiful and vivacious, capable and intelligent and a joy to be around." He gave her a smile. "And you possess reflexes any Nietzschean fighter pilot would envy."
Beka tried to return her smile and did manage a brave effort. "It's not like… I'm looking for a lifelong commitment here or anything. Valentines are notorious commitment-phobes. I'm… I'm just not ready to throw my towel back into the ring, I guess. I'm not ready to spend a month, or six, or twelve, or whatever with someone, only to spend another two crying at night and trying to pretend everything's okay during the day." Beka sighed a hiccupy sigh.. "I don't worry about that with most of the guys I date, Tyr, but you are not most of the guys I date." Her voice cracked, and she decided it would be wise to let Tyr speak for a while.
Tyr stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. "Beka…" His voice came out little louder than a whisper. "Beka, I don't know what's going to happen, but I do know that if you… accept me, I will not leave you for a job or another woman—human or Nietzschean or Perseid." Beka didn't think there were female Perseids, but she didn't remember that she didn't think that. "I know you are not one of my people, and I certainly would not expect you to name me a husband and father. But Beka, I would never presume to enter into a relationship of this sort with you if I did not intend to remain with you for… a long time.
"And I do, Beka. I want to stay on this ship after this operation is complete. I want to learn what goes on behind those sapphire eyes of yours. I want to see them sparkle when you laugh, and I want to soothe you when they weep."
They wept now, a single tear that slid down each cheek. "When you put it like, Tyr… how could I say no?" She laid a hand on his but didn't make any attempt to remove it from her face. Instead, she slowly ran hers up his forearm—avoiding his boneblades—and drew him nearer. She kissed him tentatively, as if it were her first, and he responded every bit as uncertainly. But months had passed since anyone had touched Beka like this—touched her lips or her face or her heart like this—and she had never felt more alone that she had in the past few days, with Tyr so physically close but barricaded from her by a steel wall of her own making.
The love of friends Beka had, but this kind had mostly passed her by. Or when Cupid had deigned to notice Beka Valentine, his arrows had turned out to be barbed, and the wound lasted long after his potion had faded. She didn't want to bleed like that again… but then Tyr's kisses lost their gentleness and became intensely passionate. She found herself answering and felt his strong hands on her flushed skin and hers on his vest and his kisses trailed down her neck…
(and the author chose this moment to tastefully fade to black)
/But what would I say to him? Oh, Harper, it's just that time of the month?/ Not true, of course—she was on birth control, and part of its charm was that she had no time of the month. But did Harper know that? Hmm. She smiled. He'd probably turn green, shrug and mutter something, and then suddenly remember an extremely urgent repair if she told him that.
No, she wouldn't lie to Harper, even about something as trivial as that. /Which brings us right back to the ol' drawing board./ Apologizing. To Harper, definitely. Well, maybe. She knew she'd been unreasonable towards everyone lately, and apologizing to Harper was one thing. Apologizing to Tyr… that was something else entirely. /Maybe you just don't want to be alone in a room with him in a capacity other than strictly business-like./ Or maybe it was just stupid Valentine pride.
"I'll give it a few more days," she told the flexi she held in her wounded arm. It was strong enough for that, at least. "Who knows? Maybe my arm will heal overnight, and I'll conveniently contract a case of short-term amnesia. That should just about take care of things."
Her door slid open, and she stiffened. Sneaking up on Beka Valentine really was never a good way to get on her good side. "I'm afraid I can do nothing for the arm, and I doubt very much that you would like my method of inflicting memory loss. I've heard it's quite painful." Tyr, naturally.
Beka's mellow mood vanished, and she could feel nervous tension seeping into her neck and shoulders. She had been lounging on her bed, flipping through bills and junk mail, but now she sat up and raised her eyes to the Nietzschean. "Lucky me." She noticed that he held something behind his back. /Oh, and what do we have here, boys and girls?/ "Why yes, Tyr, of course you can come on in. No, I'm not in the middle of anything. Yes, I'm decent. A chat? Sounds lovely. Please, have a seat." Oh well. No one had ever claimed Beka to be much of a diplomat and for good reason. And sit Tyr did, on the edge of her bed. /Proximity alert, proximity alert! Bogey of unknown intent approaching. Handle with extreme caution. Repeat, handle with extreme caution./
"I came by to apologize, Beka."
/Captain, we weren't expecting this maneuver! Shields are falling. If he keeps this up, we'll be defenseless before long!/
"Not for my words or my actions, but for the distress I seem to have caused you. Such was not my intention."
/Captain, what are your orders? Do we engage the bogey, or make an excuse about a previous plan to wash our hair tonight?/ Hmm, a decision indeed. /Captain, we need a course of action—a battle plan! We must… no!! We're too late! The bogey is armed! Defenses will soon be completely overwhelmed! He has red roses, repeat, red roses. And chocolate! We're doomed for sure, Captain. We have no chance of resistance against these kinds of weapons./
Beka took the flowers and breathed their sweet, sultry perfume. She smiled wryly and stood up to search her room for a vase or any hollow sort of cylindrical object. "You… it was bad timing, Tyr, that night. Very bad timing, but that's not your fault." Almost miraculously, she did find a vase. She turned and shot Tyr something of a grin. "Well, not completely your fault. And if those are caramel-filled, not your fault in the least." The closest source of fresh water was the head, conveniently located near the crew quarters. Beka employed the time it took to walk to the head, fill the vase, and return to put her thoughts in order. To try to put her thoughts in order. To ultimately fail to put her thoughts in order.
She felt Tyr's eyes on her immediately when she walked back into her quarters. It had always seemed like such a bad serial holo-romance cliché, to feel someone's eyes on oneself. But right now, Beka felt as if she were in one of those holo-novels she hid under her bed anyway, so maybe it was appropriate. "I was thinking about Bobby that night, and it is /not/ the best time to proposition me, when I've been remembering him." She leaned against her nightstand, hands behind her back and eyes downcast. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I know you weren't propositioning me. I just…" Beka glanced up. "Hey, hand me those chocolates, will ya?"
Tyr looked momentarily taken aback by this abrupt change of subject, but he recovered himself quickly and gave Beka the flat box. "Thanks." She bit one, and her eyes widened. "They /are/ caramel-filled. Whaddya know?" She swallowed and continued. "I know you're not a wham-bam, thank you ma'am kinda guy, Tyr. Believe me, I have vast experience with such shady characters; half of the people I run cargo for are one variety or another of shady characters. But like I said then, I'm afraid." She suddenly felt very tired.
"I'm afraid… you'll leave when this mission is over. Or when some gangster needs someone to carry out a whacking. Or when…" she paused and refused to let her voice crack. If she didn't know better, she /would/ imagine it was that time of the month, or that some medication was responsible for these uncharacteristic mood swings. "Or when you find someone else, someone different. Someone Nietzschean."
Beka made herself raise her eyes and saw… what? Confusion, hurt, anger, and indignation all danced across Tyr's perfect features. "Beka, you are not a… a second choice or some sort of contingency plan for me." He rose, walked toward Beka, and cupped her face in his hands. "You are beautiful and vivacious, capable and intelligent and a joy to be around." He gave her a smile. "And you possess reflexes any Nietzschean fighter pilot would envy."
Beka tried to return her smile and did manage a brave effort. "It's not like… I'm looking for a lifelong commitment here or anything. Valentines are notorious commitment-phobes. I'm… I'm just not ready to throw my towel back into the ring, I guess. I'm not ready to spend a month, or six, or twelve, or whatever with someone, only to spend another two crying at night and trying to pretend everything's okay during the day." Beka sighed a hiccupy sigh.. "I don't worry about that with most of the guys I date, Tyr, but you are not most of the guys I date." Her voice cracked, and she decided it would be wise to let Tyr speak for a while.
Tyr stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. "Beka…" His voice came out little louder than a whisper. "Beka, I don't know what's going to happen, but I do know that if you… accept me, I will not leave you for a job or another woman—human or Nietzschean or Perseid." Beka didn't think there were female Perseids, but she didn't remember that she didn't think that. "I know you are not one of my people, and I certainly would not expect you to name me a husband and father. But Beka, I would never presume to enter into a relationship of this sort with you if I did not intend to remain with you for… a long time.
"And I do, Beka. I want to stay on this ship after this operation is complete. I want to learn what goes on behind those sapphire eyes of yours. I want to see them sparkle when you laugh, and I want to soothe you when they weep."
They wept now, a single tear that slid down each cheek. "When you put it like, Tyr… how could I say no?" She laid a hand on his but didn't make any attempt to remove it from her face. Instead, she slowly ran hers up his forearm—avoiding his boneblades—and drew him nearer. She kissed him tentatively, as if it were her first, and he responded every bit as uncertainly. But months had passed since anyone had touched Beka like this—touched her lips or her face or her heart like this—and she had never felt more alone that she had in the past few days, with Tyr so physically close but barricaded from her by a steel wall of her own making.
The love of friends Beka had, but this kind had mostly passed her by. Or when Cupid had deigned to notice Beka Valentine, his arrows had turned out to be barbed, and the wound lasted long after his potion had faded. She didn't want to bleed like that again… but then Tyr's kisses lost their gentleness and became intensely passionate. She found herself answering and felt his strong hands on her flushed skin and hers on his vest and his kisses trailed down her neck…
(and the author chose this moment to tastefully fade to black)