TITLE: A Past to Outdo

NOTES: Well since you asked so nicely :)

CHAPTER EIGHT Smoking Mirrors and Open Minds

"The force of habit is a fierce and powerful opponent, not easily defeated."

- Asilla Zinoux

CY 1121-1139

As Harper slept feverishly, a pair of eyes watched over him, the mind behind them lost in thought. It was obvious nightmares rampaged in his head, no doubt of the past, and the demons that lived there. Demons all too familiar to the eyes that watched.

Beka couldn't think straight. She had stopped on the way to her quarters, somewhere on B deck, and was simply pacing back and forth, running her hands through her hair. Her eyes searched for something on the floor that would ease her stress, and answer her questions, but she found nothing. Tyr was also on the way back to his quarters, and ran into her on the way.

"Are you alright?" he asked, immediately feeling that it was the most obviously stupid question he could have asked.

"No, I'm not alright, Tyr. Nothing is right," Beka replied.

Tyr said nothing, guessing that Beka just needed to vent to someone. Far be it for him to deny her that.

"This isn't supposed to be happening," she said after a long silence.

"What did you expect would happen? Things to return to normal at the drop of a hat? Is that what happened when you went through withdrawal?" he asked, hitting close to home.

"What would you know about it?" Beka snapped. Since when did Tyr become the voice of reason?

"I know only what I have seen, and I have seen drug addiction ruin the most resilient of characters. I also know that to shake an addiction in one fell swoop is a task not easily undertaken."

"What are you saying? That you understand?" Beka accused. "You understand why Harper just made his life ten times harder than what it was, all for the sake of a lousy fix?"

"Perhaps," Tyr admitted. "Or perhaps I understand that people make mistakes."

Dylan was in his quarters, failing to sleep. Insomnia seemed to be a common theme lately. What little sleep blessed the crew was tainted by nightmares. Dylan wondered if there was a specific point in time when his ship started to fall apart at the seams. Tracing backwards through events gone by, he finally decided that maybe it was doomed from the start. After all, what crew came without the shadows behind them?

He damned himself for being so pessimistic. This wasn't the end, it was just...a small obstacle. A mistake, a rough patch. They'd been through enough of them, and survived. Some left scars, but they were still standing. They'd be standing at the end of this one. But even though Dylan told himself this over and over, he couldn't see how.

"Are you alright Dylan?" Andromeda asked. Dylan had forgotten to engage privacy mode. He didn't mind the intrusion though.

"I'm just great. I'm trying to restore order to the universe, and I can't even maintain it on my own ship," Dylan mused.

"That's hardly your fault," Andromeda responded, her holographic form appearing by his bedside. "Besides, your job description doesn't exactly include this sort of thing."

"Then why do I feel like I should have sorted this all out by now?" Dylan asked, not expecting an answer.

Andromeda provided one anyway. "Because you're Dylan. You have a good Samaritan complex which compels you to help everyone."

"Have you been talking to Ellis?" he joked.

Andromeda decided her Captain needed his sleep, and she wasn't helping by keeping him up. "Good night, Captain," she said, closing the conversation.

Dylan closed his eyes. "Night."

Beka made it back to her quarters and engaged privacy mode. Anger had been by her side since she'd found out about Harper, but now it was being shunted aside. Sadness whitewashed her heated companion. It hit her at that moment. Things were never going to go back. She had lost her best friend, despite her every effort to protect him. Ellis was right, there was nothing she could have done, but that fact didn't make her feel any better. It made her feel worse. She felt the one thing she endeavoured to never feel - powerless.

Beka laid on her bed and closed her eyes, knowing that when she opened them again, the sadness would still be there. It had settled, and was planning on staying a while.

The night dragged on, and it was filled with nothing but suffering. Morning came promising nothing less. His back ached, and his left arm was completely dead, but if someone could just take his head out of the vice, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Harper was awake once more, but something wasn't quite right. He was no longer on a bed, but a cold, hard floor, and there were no restraints on his arms. What was going on?

His eyes watered involuntarily, so he wiped them with his sleeve. Soon it was clear that he wasn't in Kansas anymore. The dull lights of med-deck were replaced with ridiculously bright ones, and the walls were closer together. It was still Andromeda, but where? And then as his senses returned, it dawned on him. The one place that he really didn't want to even think of being. Harper was in the brig.

"Rommie!" he called desperately. "What am I doing here?"

There was no reply. Maybe something was wrong, the ship could be under attack, Beka and the others were probably in trouble, but where were they? Why wasn't Andromeda answering?

"I'm here, Harper," Andromeda said, her voice strangely formal. "Just sit tight, someone is going to come down soon."

"What's going on, Rommie?" Silence tore at him like rusted claws, and panic rose from the pit of his stomach. "Andromeda? Someone! ANYONE?"

A scream resounded through the corridors of the ship.

End of chapter eight

Next chapter: Way Out