Natta - Hi there! The order's a bit messed up from EI... some of what's in the third chapter here is in the second chapter over there. Thanks for reading!
B.L.A the Mouse - I'm glad the clarification helped. A story can only be so enjoyable if you're confused :). Here's more finally. It's always a treat to see your reviews - they're practically a staple of my Andromeda fic here.
Artemis1000 - Your wish is granted, first interactions and then some. Thank you so much for your review here and on my other Andromeda stories... it's so nice to see those old fics getting some love. It means a lot to me that you've gone and looked at my other fics on the basis of what you've read here.
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Later that year, Tyr foiled the first serious attempt on Beka's life. Someone or someones determined to get rid of Beka had hired a small pack of Kalderans to brutally interrupt her visit with Ne'Holland's aging king. Not only did she survive, but she and Tyr spun the incident to look like an assassination attempt on the king's life on behalf of a trusted minister, prevented at the last minute by her and her loyal bodyguard.
She did not allow her tension to seep through her cool, pleasant, and – most importantly – confident façade until she left the Ne'Holland system. Setting the controls of the renovated and refurbished Eureka Maru to autopilot, she exhaled slowly and rose to face Tyr, standing at the weapons console. She closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, and when she looked up again, Tyr was standing at her elbow. He slipped behind her and set his hands on her shoulders. Under the ministrations of his strong fingers, she relaxed for the first time in two weeks and sighed again.
Finally, she found her voice. It was pleasingly steady. "So. Do I get a medal or something? Is there a club? Though I suppose if anyone deserves a medal, it's you."
A rumble of laughter. Beka reminded herself of Darjella's advice that sleeping with one's bodyguard was occasionally a brilliant idea but usually a very bad one. Sleeping with Nietzscheans was generally held to be impossible unless you were also a Nietzschean or if the Nietzschean in question was not quite right in the head. Or facing death, an instinct to which apparently they were not immune. Or orphaned, without a Pride, which Tyr in fact was.
"Why are you here?" she asked drowsily.
He did not bother with quips about two Nietzscheans loving each other's genealogy very much, for which Beka was deeply grateful.
"Since the annihilation of the Kodiak, I have had to make my own way in the universe. I have goals beyond overpaid security, but I am confident that the good will of... the farm's matriarch will prove a precious commodity. You'll not be so foolish as to incur the wrath of any of the major Prides, but neither will they be hasty to search a confrontation with you."
Her lips curved in a smile. "That's what I love about you, Tyr. You tell me to my face – well, to the back of my head – that you're using me… and you manage to turn it into a compliment." She chuckled. "Me, a matriarch."
-o-
As time went on, they agreed that Beka required a full security retinue, four guards to follow her everywhere except the head and three each to watch her ship and her quarters when the Maru was docked. They also came to the common conclusion that she could not afford to lose Tyr. These days, Beka warranted an intelligence file of her own among players from the Free Trade Alliance to the Than Hegemony to the Drago-Kazov Pride.
"I could keep you on as… the captain of my bodyguard or something, but I have a better idea, if you're willing to make an ass out of yourself in the eyes of the Nietzschean people and the universe as a whole. There's really no point except to maybe throw the Nightsiders and maybe some other people for a loop."
When he leaned on something as he was leaning now, he reminded Beka of the photographs of big cats she had seen, half asleep in the hot sunshine but all muscles and sinew and readiness for that. If he agreed, he would make some very nice arm candy.
The slow smile he gave her told her that he knew exactly what she was proposing. Beka had been in extremely close quarters with Tyr before, had shown weakness to him she had never shown to anyone else, but for the first time, she felt her face redden. This was ludicrous. She was suggesting a legitimate business arrangement.
"So what do you think?"
Tyr slid a knife from a holster at his belt and began trimming his nails, looking completely at ease. She had seen him throw that knife through a man's eye from across a hangar deck. A very, very big hangar deck.
"I think we're both going to have several dozen people laughing at us before the day's over." When he glanced up at her, the grin was still in place. "I think it's an excellent idea."
They shared a quiet moment like, silently applauding their own cleverness. It occurred to Beka, not for the first time, that it would be very easy indeed to profess her adoration of this man to the universe at large. As she rose in the ranks of the Darjella's enterprise, she lost respect for more and more people she had once believed to be quite clever, if not paragons of wisdom. On the contrary, Tyr just became more and more impressive as the days went by, and she began to wonder more and more often when he was going to leave her – as he inevitably would – to strike out and make his own way in the universe.
"If we really wanted to make a spectacle – and no one likes a good spectacle like a bunch of Nietzscheans determined to look down on human foibles, no offense – we could draw this out," Beka said thoughtfully. One of her most pressing concerns these days was a rumored alliance between the Sabra and Jaguar Prides, the latter of whom had a well known grudge against Darjella and the farm, a matter of pirating and black markets on slave worlds. Her best sources told her it would be at least two years before anything concrete happened on that front, which made this the perfect time for the Jaguar Arch-duke to clean up illicit activity within his domain. Beka personally oversaw the coordination of smuggling activity in and out of the Jaguar home system, and she was sure Charlemagne was well aware of this.
"Make it a production," she continued, "like a soap opera." The soap opera, endlessly adaptable, was one of humanity's great contributions to intergalactic civilization.
Tyr returned the blade to its usual home and sauntered toward her. Beka swallowed but kept her expression nonchalant. "You want me to publicly pursue you, like a lovesick poet?"
"Well, I… I don't mean you should strew my path with rose petals or proclaim your love on stage at Aire Sirte. You know, just little things. Believable things, coming from you."
He was standing over her now – looming, more like it. He pitched his voice low, so low she could barely hear him. "Gaze at your intently when you're turned away, softly brush your elbow or the small of your back. Stand a bit closer than usual. Look particularly stony after a whispered conversation or a long night." He pulled back slightly. "And what will you be doing while I'm making a fool out of myself?"
Beka shrugged, unable to repress the smile dancing on her lips. "I'll be… surprised but trying not to show it. Taken aback. If I appear to suffer a sleepless night or two, so much the better." After steeling herself during the space of a second, Beka stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Tyr's middle. He did not react, not even with a quirk of his eyebrow.
"I'll put up a fight, of course, but we both know I don't stand a chance against that tall, dark and handsome bad boy charm." This was very pleasant, standing pressed against him like this. Depending on how much effort they were willing to put into this charade, she might have to get used to a lot more of this.
That reminded her… "Is my retinue to know about this elaborate deception, or…" Inspiration struck her as she spoke. "No, I know. The additional security will be your idea because you think you're just too enchanted with me to think straight." She could not help it; a mischievous giggle escaped her. She could not remembered the last time she had giggled like that.
"Not that," she began, recovering herself, "uh, the quality of your work will actually decline in the least, but people will see what they want to see. I'll bet that we get another attempt while you're interviewing for new recruits." And if we find someone really good, she almost added, you can go on your merry way conquering the Known Worlds sooner than you expected.
He reached down and cupped her face in one large hand. "If you like," he murmured, eyes intent upon her and oddly soft, "I'll kill your would-be assassin in an especially ghastly manner."
"Oh stop. I think I'm gonna cry."
As declarations of love – or at least, of intentions to feign love before the cosmos and their inhabitants – it left something to be desired. But it was believable. Coming from him.