Title: Safe Haven
Writer: Brit
Status: Work in Progress
Rating: PG13 (For violence)
Spoilers: I doubt it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Andromeda or any of its characters. I write for enjoyment and not for gain.

Synopsis: An AU Andromeda fiction. This is set on Earth pre Harper joining the Maru. I have taken some liberties with character's back stories.

NB: I am British, my spelling and grammar are also British.

The old woman muttered and mumbled to herself as she picked her way through the garbage-covered alleyways of downtown Boston. There were very few people around so near to the curfew and the few that were hurrying back to their homes avoided her. She was obviously deranged and quite possibly dangerous. Even the ubers left her alone.

She pushed what looked like a small wheelbarrow in front of her and it was full of the things that she'd picked up on her travels that day. She rummaged through the garbage selecting items that took her fancy and discarding those that didn't. There was no pattern to her gathering, at least not one that was immediately obvious to anyone who might be watching her.

She walked right up to the heap of rags before she realised that what she was seeing was a man's body. It had been raining and the alley was slick with water. The body was lying face down in a pool of diluted blood. The woman put out a tentative hand and touched its shoulder. When there was no reaction she rolled the man over.

She gasped as she saw the battered face. The man was young, little more than a boy and would have been good looking if not for the injuries he'd received. Fresh blood welled from a gash over one eye. His nose was swollen and his lips cut and bruised. The boy's hair had once been blond but now it was dark with blood and filth from the alley floor.

The woman felt his neck for a pulse. It was there, a weak throbbing under the skin proof that he was still alive. She felt gently down his arms and legs looking for broken bones. The young man had been given one Hell of a beating. His blue shirt was soaked with blood and she gently undid the buttons. What she saw made her draw in her breath with a hiss. The boy's body was covered in old and new bruises. He had obviously been beaten over a long period of time.

The worst of his injuries was a wicked knife slash across his upper abdomen. The woman thought he had probably been attacked and robbed. It happened all the time. That would explain the new injuries but not the old ones. The yellowish faded bruises that covered his upper body.

The boy was cold to the touch and as she pressed down on the knife wound to try to stop the bleeding he moaned pitifully. She didn't need this sort of complication in her life but he would certainly die if she left him here. She wrapped the wound as best she could in the cleanest piece of cloth she could find. He would probably get an infection and die anyway but she had to help him.

As she bent over to try to lift him onto the barrow his eyes opened briefly. They were blue and filled with pain and confusion.

"Hurts," he whimpered. Then the blue eyes rolled up and he was unconscious again. The woman stroked his hair then patted his shoulder gently.

"It's all right, you're safe with me," she said. She closed her own eyes for a brief moment. What had she done? She should have left him there. Someone else would have found him. She knew in her heart there was no other course of action that she could have taken. She couldn't let this boy die just because it might be inconvenient to help him.

It took a lot of effort to lift him up and into the barrow. He was small and malnourished but he was also a dead weight and although the woman was strong it was hard work. She covered him over with some of the barrow's contents. Once more she started her seemingly aimless walk along the alleyways. It was fortunate that he was out of it because the jolting action of the barrow would have been agony with his injuries.

She had been walking for some time when he began to moan in pain. The woman stopped. "Quiet, you must be quiet," she hissed. If he carried on making a noise he would draw attention to them. "We're very near my house. Just a few minutes longer."

The boy's world was limited to the terrible pain he was feeling and the smell of the barrow's other contents. He had no idea where he was or what was happening to him. At least he knew he was alive. He wouldn't be in so much pain if he were dead. The pain was good. He tried very hard to be quiet. He bit down hard on his already injured lip. He almost cried with relief when the jolting movement stopped. His relief was short lived as it started again almost immediately, only this time it was far worse.

The woman bumped the barrow up the flight of stairs that led to her single room apartment. She hoped that the man had passed out again. He had certainly been quiet ever since she'd spoken to him. He might even be dead. She sighed wearily. She hoped he was still alive; she didn't have the energy to go out again and dispose of his body.

She manoeuvred the barrow through the surprisingly sturdy looking door. Her first task was to shut and lock the door. That done she emptied out the layer of rubbish that was covering the injured youth.

She half carried half dragged him onto the narrow bed in the corner of the room. He was very pale and at first she thought he was dead. Then he whimpered and opened his eyes.

She smiled down at him. Her eyes looked into his. "You're safe now," she said. The boy looked up meeting her gaze. Her face was lined and wrinkled and a wisp of white hair showed under the scarf she was wearing. The woman's eyes were surprising; they were bright and alert with no sign of madness.

Seamus Harper looked up at her. "Thank you," he said.

The woman gave him a genuine smile. Her teeth were white and even, unusual in Boston kludge society. Most people had decayed or missing teeth. Her age also made her stand out. Boston was a city of young people, hardship may have aged them beyond their years but most were under the age of forty.

Harper tried to smile back, his swollen lip turning it into a grimace. A fit of shivering wracked his body and he coughed. The effort exhausted him and he lay struggling for breath.

"I'll make you something warm to drink soon," the woman promised. "First I need to get you cleaned up. That wound on your stomach will have to be stitched. I don't have any medical supplies so the next hour or so won't be very pleasant."

She laughed bitterly. "No alcohol or Flash either so you're going to have to bite the bullet kiddo."

She turned away and began to heat up some water in a large pan. She went to a drawer and found a needle and some strong thread. She put them into a smaller container and set them to boil. Her movements were swift and assured nothing like the shambling walk that she affected when she was outside.

She found a clean towel and tore strips of cloth from what looked like the remains of a white sheet.

Harper stayed as still as he could, movement of any sort hurt more than he could have imagined. He was used to regular beatings; he could barely remember a time when he wasn't being used as a punch bag. In the camp it had been one of the beta uber's favourite sports.

After his escape the gang that he'd fallen in with believed that constant punishment was the best way of keeping the 'staff' motivated. His stomach lurched when he thought about what he'd been 'carrying' when he'd been attacked. He couldn't remember much about what had happened after the two men had jumped him. He knew that they'd gone away empty handed. They must have thought he was dead they would never have let him live if they'd known where what they were searching for was stored.

The water in both pans had come to the boil and the woman ladled some out into a basin. She picked up the rest of her rudimentary equipment and headed back to Harper's bedside.

She stripped off his shirt and began to remove his pants. The young man tried to stop her but he wasn't strong enough and she soon had him stripped down to his ragged shorts. "Glad I put the good underwear on today," he managed to quip. It was the last time he attempted to speak while she was working on him.

The woman washed Harper carefully, she tried to be careful but there was barely an inch of his body that wasn't bruised or lacerated. The wound across his stomach she left until last. She was scared to remove the makeshift bandage in case she started him bleeding heavily again. She managed to ease it off and was relieved to see that although the wound was still oozing blood there was no significant loss.

She undid the heavy leather belt that she wore round her waist and handed it to the boy. He gave her a puzzled look. "Bite on it," she said. "Can't risk anyone hearing you cry out. I know you've been pretty good so far but this is really going to hurt."

Harper put the strong leather into his mouth and clenched his teeth down on to it. The woman cleaned out the wound the best she could and then picked up the needle and threaded it.

Harper had squeezed his eyes shut from the pain. He jumped as she forced the needle through his tender flesh. "Keep still boy," she said. "That's only the first one."

She put twenty stitches into the wound and he was conscious for every one. He hadn't moved after the first time but his face was white and drenched with sweat and he'd bitten through the strong leather more than once.

The woman stroked the sweat soaked hair out of his eyes. "It's done," she said gently.

Harper opened his eyes. He tried to speak but the words wouldn't come and he slumped back against the pillow deeply unconscious.

"Hell kid you could have done that half an hour ago," the woman sighed. "It would have made my job easier." She finished bandaging him and then covered the boy over with a woollen afghan. He was deeply out and the woman cleared up before sinking down in a battered armchair.

She removed her headscarf and shook her head. As her hair moved its colour changed from white to a deep glowing red. She peeled off her wrinkled skin and threw the mask down on the table.

Now her disguise was shed it could be seen that she was a beautiful young woman. She slipped off her crumpled clothes and removed the padding that she'd tied round her waist. She was dressed in tight black leather that accentuated the curves of her well-toned body.

The youngster would be asleep for ages she could afford to be herself for a little while at least.

Beka Valentine sighed as she went about making herself a frugal meal. The boy could still die from blood loss or infection; the next twenty-four hours would be crucial. She smiled as she realised that she didn't even know his name.

tbc