Regret

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Tyr awoke to find the med bay silent and in partial darkness. He didn't know how long he had been out but he did know that he felt stronger, strong enough to go to Beka; Trance had told him that she was fine but he still needed to see that for himself, he needed to see her, to hold her again and tell her that it was all okay, that they were safe and that he loved her.

He quickly scanned the immediate area to make sure that Trance was no where around, she would probably order him back to bed, 'annoying little golden pixie'. Sniffing the air he picked up the faint scent of Beka's blood, following this he passed through the main medical area into the adjoining room where the more seriously injured patients where cared for. He was about to slide the screen across when he heard a hushed male voice on the other side of it.

"You're going to be fine Beka, and Tyr is doing good to, Trance says he should be up and about soon." It was Dylan, Tyr knew it was rude to ease drop but he was a Nietzschean mercenary so what did he care.

"Tyr? what happened to Tyr?" her voice was low, weak, but it was her voice; he couldn't help but smile a little in relief at hearing her utter his name.

"His bone blades Beka, they're gone, ripped out by debris." For the first time Tyr looked down at his bandaged arms, he ran one hand along the length of the bandage covering his arm and then did the same with the other…the blades…they were gone. He could remember the crates falling, and he remembered the blood and felt the pain but somehow his brain hadn't recognised that these things where all connected. His attention was momentarily drawn from his wounds by Dylan's voice. "Beka I thought I had lost you, I was so scared, I don't know what I would have done if we hadn't found you in time…" he paused, his voice was strained as though he was fighting back tears, "…God Beka I love you so much."

"And I love you." Tyr carefully looked round the screen, Beka was lying on the bio bed covered by a white sheet, Dylan sat on the edge next to her side, their hands where clasped and their lips where pressed gently together. Silently the Nietzschean stalked back to his bed, left with only his thoughts and a solitary tear of regret.