A.N.: I wrote this immediately following the November 8th episode. I apologize if there are any discrepancies between my fic and the actual show, but I retain the right to twist the characters or events any way I choose. Tyr, for instance, is just a tad bit OOC in this one…
Warning: This is a Tyr/Beka fic. This will not, under any circumstances, be a Dylan/Beka, Radhe/Beka, or, heaven forbid, a Harper/Beka fic. Forget about it. I enjoy reading fics with those pairings, but I won't ever write 'em. Tyr all the way, baby!
Just out of curiosity and perhaps for future fics, who do we think is Beka's best friend?
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"Holding Back"
It was his own fault, he knew. He'd thought he'd prepared himself for their first meeting after so many weeks and months, thought he'd prepared himself to look her in the eye and show no emotion, but he should have remembered that he had never been prepared for anything at all where Beka was concerned. Even without trying, she had always thrown him off-balance, had always disrupted the control he'd so painstakingly constructed over what little heart he had, and he should not have thought this time would be any different. Did she know what she did to him, what emotions she awakened within him? A brief smile tugged at his lips, his dark eyes momentarily lighting with amusement. Of course she did, he thought. Beka probably knew exactly what she did to him, and, knowing her, she had probably reveled in the hold she had over him. She was not exactly naïve, his Beka, and she would not have missed the attraction everyone else had seen.
He sighed, the smile dying before it had really started. Three years, he'd been with her. Three years of fighting at her side, of learning her strengths and her weaknesses. Three years of learning to care for her, of learning almost to love her, and it had all come down to this. He had never, of course, expected his relationship with Beka, whatever it had been, to have progressed beyond the simple flirting they'd indulged in since the day they'd first met, and he'd certainly never expected to make a life with her. Such a thing, after all, had been all but impossible, and he'd known that from the first. How could he not have known that anything between them was doomed? Strong as she was, she had only ever been human, and he was…himself. He was Nietzshean, the leader of Prides spanning three galaxies, everything that she was not. There could never be anything between them, and even she had known this.
Yet he still cared for her, still cared about what happened to her. True, he had abandoned her to follow his own cause, had left her behind with barely a word of farewell. She hadn't let him tell her how he felt, in the end, but even he knew that he'd never really tried to let her know just how strong his feelings for her were. He hadn't wanted her to know, to really know, that is, because he hadn't wanted to dwell on his love for her any more than she had. They had no future together, and the might-have-been's would have destroyed him. Better, he'd thought, that they both be miserable, better that she spend the rest of her life hating him for leaving her than that either of them dwell any more on their regrets. He'd realized, long ago, that regrets were more dangerous than anything else, and she was already enough of a weakness.
Then, of course, he'd found her again—or, rather, she had found him. It hadn't been an accident, this meeting, though he wished their reunion had not been so quick in coming. Had enough years stretched between them, he might have come to believe the lies he constantly told himself, might have convinced himself that he did not love her. He might even have come to believe that he'd made the right decision in sacrificing what they might have had in return for the power taken from the Prides. He might have, but his undoing had come with that first glimpse of her beautiful, sculpted face, and he had known, in that instant, that he was not willing to live without her. He was not willing to spend every day wishing she were with him, was not willing to see if this universe would become stale without her presence. He was perfectly capable of surviving without her, of course, but he didn't even want to try. She meant too much to him, and he could almost admit how much he needed her.
He'd sent her a message, using a ridiculously expensive transmitter that would allow him to speak with her in real time and over vast distances. He knew he should probably have just relayed his words, but a part of him had to watch her face as he asked her to sacrifice everything--her friends, their trust in her, her mission--in order to be with him. He'd sent the communicator, and then he'd sat back and waited for her to take the bait and respond. He didn't have to wait long, of course. Beka had never been one to turn away from a challenge, and she probably suspected who the message was from before she'd actually activated it. Beka, after all, knew him almost as well as he knew her, and she had probably been waiting for him to contact her.
His half of the communicator beeped, letting him know she was waiting. He reached out with one long finger to activate the device, and then stood back, his legs slightly apart and his hands on his hips. Her face flashed over his screen, and he sighed inside. How could he have forgotten just how beautiful she was? They'd only been apart for a few months, and he'd thought he'd had every line and contour of her face memorized, but his heart still thudded within his chest as she appeared before him. Her face, of course, showed little surprise in return, and he knew from the tightness of her expression that she was trying hard to control herself. She was still angry with him, he supposed, and she would not want to betray her feelings any more than he did. He schooled his own handsome features into a strong mask, almost clenching his teeth as he tried to keep his need for her from his face. "Greetings, powerful woman," he began, knowing she would not understand the significance of the words. How could she? She was not Nietzshean, and she could not realize that his address was what one of his kind would normally use only when speaking to a respected superior…or to a highly beloved mate. He waited a moment before continuing, ruthlessly destroying the thought before it could damage him even more than he already was.
"What do you want, Tyr?" she demanded, face still incredibly stony. Her eyes, of course, had flickered a little at his greeting, but she quickly forced any emotion from her bright gaze as she waited for him to explain himself. He could not tell whether or not she was glad to see him, glad to hear his voice as he was glad to hear hers, and he pushed on, knowing he had only a very little time to say this.
"I have information, Beka," he quickly continued, not wasting any time on the preliminaries or idle conversation he knew she did not want. His voice, when he spoke again, was a little more forceful than he'd intended, but he could not ease the intensity of his tone. This attempt to keep himself from telling her the truth was almost physically draining, and he had never been one to show weakness, even and especially before her. "You'll end up on a slave ship," he spat, again not bothering to give the explanation she did not need. She knew exactly what he was talking about, and the thought, even now, created a bitter taste in his mouth. "Or Magog food, if you stay on board the Andromeda." His voice grew harsher with every word.
"My coordinates," he said, knowing the data would be flashing before her, "where I am waiting for you. I'll tell you my story," he promised, not giving her a chance to interrupt, not letting her express her outrage over his behavior, over what he had done to her and hers. "I'll hold nothing from you. Nothing at all, Beka. On the bones of Drago Museveni, I give you my word."
The message ended, just as he had programmed it to. He had not dared extend this practically one-sided conversation, knowing he would regret the outcome if he did. He stared at the blank screen for a long moment after her face had disappeared, wondering. Did she know just what he was promising? Her face had been so impassive throughout his entire message, and, for the first time, he had not been able to read her expression. Did she realize what he was offering her? Did she know that he was willing to abandon his people's greatest beliefs in order to keep her by his side? He had meant it, when he had promised to hold nothing of himself back. Not his thoughts, not his heart. He would give her all of himself, if only she would come to him.
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She did come to him, in the end. He waited for her in the Collector's gardens, watching her walk across the perfectly manicured lawns. Even then, as she moved slowly towards him across a place so heavily guarded that even Dylan would have become nervous, he could not detect any hesitance in her step. She moved with confidence, with an easy grace that he almost envied, and her face lit from within as her sharp, intelligent eyes finally located him. He began to walk towards her, unable to keep the smile from his own lips as he went to greet her. "Beka," he murmured, her name almost a prayer on her lips. There was more affection in the single word than he'd ever shown at any other time in his life, but she knew better than to react.
They stayed in the garden, keeping away from prying ears as they walked. She trailed a few steps behind him, eyes intent on the back of his head. "I'm glad I left Andromeda," he told her, not turning to face her as they crossed a small, wooden bridge covering one of the Collector's many ponds. "My life is fulfilled now. Better, in every way."
She wasn't buying it. "Dylan knows I'm here with you," she informed him, voice not quite as cold as he'd expected, and he shrugged. How was he supposed to take that? He knew she'd always been close to Dylan, knew that, had Tyr himself not come along, she probably would have ended up with their idealistic captain. Tyr steeled himself inside, pushing away the thought of Beka with another man. He had never admitted this, and he did not quite admit it now, but he had always been a little jealous of Dylan Hunt. Their infamous captain may or may not have loved Beka Valentine, but they still shared an incredible bond, a bond in which Tyr could have no part. Still, while Tyr was almost willing to admit he loved her, he was not willing to admit to so petty an emotion as jealousy, and he shoved the feeling away, knowing he would not get her to stay if he brought Dylan into this more than he already was.
"It's all part of the plan," he told her instead, knowing she would take his words as an admission that he was using her as bait for Dylan and the Route of Ages. She was right, of course…he was using her. No matter how strongly he felt for her, no matter what his plans for their future were, even Beka could be a tool to further his own ends, and he would not be foolish enough to pass up this opportunity. Dylan, Tyr knew, would come for Beka if she tarried too long, eyes and guns blazing over Tyr's latest sin. He and the Andromeda would fall straight into Tyr's trap, and Tyr would have everything. He would have the Route of Ages that Dylan protected, would have his victory over his old captain, and, most importantly, he would have Beka. The universe would be his for the taking, if only he could get Beka to stay long enough for Dylan to find her.
She was still watching him, her eyes sharp and questioning. He had forgotten how quick-minded she was. "Yeah," she agreed, and he suddenly realized that she'd heard more than just the unspoken message in his words. She knew exactly why he had asked her here, but she also knew how much he wanted her for her own sake. "Are you going to tell me about that?"
He could hear the suspicion in her voice, and he finally turned to look at her, instantly hiding the way his breath caught when his eyes met hers. They were still moving, now crossing to the other side of the bridge. The gravel felt harsh beneath his booted feet as he returned to the carefully line paths, and he turned away from her once more. "We're unifying the Nietzshean Prides," he said, and he knew that this was enough of an explanation for her. As always, Beka would understand what he meant.
The expected understanding was now etched across her beautiful features. "Well," she muttered, voice completely free of sarcasm or criticism. "I'm sure you're the only one who could do it." She fell silent, waiting for him to speak, but he said nothing more for a moment. She had such faith in him, even now. Why did she believe in him this much? He'd struggled to unite his people, struggled to do what all others had died attempting, but her voice was so casual and matter-of-fact, as if she had expected no less of him. Would she never doubt him?
He sighed, stopping and turning to face her again. "And still," he said, hands automatically drifting to his hips, "it's not enough."
She grunted, still not showing any surprise. It was almost as though she'd expected him to be dissatisfied in spite of his impossible accomplishments. Should he be concerned that she knew him this well? What was this knowledge of him, if not a weakness, a potential chink in his armor? Perhaps, he thought, she knew him too well. When had he let her get this close? "King of the Nietzsheans," she said, a trace of cynicism now pooling in her incredible eyes, "and you still want more?"
He had to make her see. "Not more, Beka," he responded, looking directly into her face. "Everything." His lips twitched in an almost nonexistent smile. "You want to be a part of that, don't you?" he asked, knowing she would see the question as the challenge he meant it to be. But would she accept?
"I don't know," she retorted. "Do I?"
He couldn't let her get away with that. She had to commit, one way or another. Even if she did not choose him, he could not let her leave until she had chosen. Not that he'd ever intended to let her leave…
He looked at her. "Does it bother you that Dylan knows you're here?" he asked instead, deciding to face his greatest worry head on. Had she already chosen Dylan Hunt over him? Was she feeling guilty over leaving the man she wanted to be with in order to converse with one even Dylan probably saw as Beka's former admirer?
He didn't know whether or not she had caught his second meaning, this time. "Dylan trusts me, Tyr," she replied easily. "Go figure. It's a quality you and I haven't quite figured out yet, have we?"
He didn't know how to answer that one. He did trust her—with his life, with his heart. He'd thought she'd known that, had thought she could see that his asking her to come at all was a confession of his trust in her. Still, would it be enough to make her stay?
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He gave her time to think, to decide. They ended up sitting on a stone bench in the middle of the gardens, silence stretching uncomfortably between them. "All right, I'm going to tell you something," she began, voice finally colored by uncertainty. She glanced at him, blue eyes lingering briefly on his face before turning back to the hands folded nervously over her lap. He said nothing, standing over her as she perched uneasily on the back of the bench. One of his hands was, as always, on his hip, one foot on the stone beside her. He was just close enough to see the sunlight glinting in her blonde hair, but not quite close enough to make her uncomfortable. "What Dylan got from that woman…you shot," she continued bluntly. "It's a message. They think this message is going to…help them, save them. So now I have to choose, because there's no other choice."
He heard the unspoken for me. No other choice for me, she'd meant. Was that how she saw it—a choice between herself and him, a choice between what she wanted and what he needed? Did she think she was abandoning everything she believed was right in order to stay here with him? She still hadn't looked away, and he waited, knuckles clenching with impatience. She looked up at him, eyes frank and grave. "Tyr, I want to be part of what you have. I'm through with the everyday struggle. I mean, look at the army you have. If there's going to be a war, the one to end everything, I'd rather be here than there."
Did she know what she was saying? Did she know that she was choosing him, that there would be no going back? She glanced up at him, and he knew she had read the question in his eyes. "It's easier to leave now than later," she replied, silencing a few of his doubts. Was she so determined to stay that she would not even risk saying goodbye, or was she like him, not wanting to deal with the pain of leaving the only family she really had?
He could not keep the cynicism from his voice. He was having a hard time keeping his hope properly quelled, and a little bitterness crept into his eyes in spite of himself. "Minding the main chance?" he asked, determined to see if she would stand by this. She had to know just how the others on the ship would take this, had to know that they would only see this as another betrayal. Was she strong enough to stick by him, even knowing how much her decision would hurt those she cared for?
She shook her head, still perfectly able to hear the other questions hidden beneath his words. "I'm minding my only chance," she replied, voice and expression so serious that he suddenly knew he would not have to doubt her fortitude in this decision. Her eyes were sad, her face tense, but he knew she would keep her word.
Beka was going to stay.