Chapter 65

I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my brother and I found all three.

- Unknown.

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Sitting at her desk in the captain's office, Beka hadn't even realized that her head had sunk into her arms or that her eyes had drifted shut until she was jolted by the sound of the door chime. She jerked upright again, frantically running her hands over her face and through her hair in a vain attempt to look awake.

"Yes…right…come in," she stammered, folding her hands nonchalantly on the desk.

The door slid open and Patch entered. He took one look at her and his bearded lips turned up into a smile.

"How was the nap, Becky-girl?"

"What nap? What are you talking about?" she protested, pouring indignation into her voice even as she brushed at her rumpled shirt.

"I'm talking about the red mark in the middle of your forehead, with the pattern of buttons in it." His "gotcha" grin was unmistakable now.

She let out a small snort and allowed herself to slouch in the chair, dropping the act to hide her weariness.

"Gotta remember not to wear this shirt while on duty," she muttered.

Patch just laughed.

"You look exhausted. You probably deserved the nap." He helped himself to another chair in the room.

"I am exhausted," she replied honestly.

"How are they doing?"

Beka didn't have to ask to know who he was talking about. Her own thoughts hadn't left the subject all night.

"Well, they're alive," she answered, wishing she could give a better one.

"Give them time, Beka. You can't fix a year of suffering in one night, no matter how much your heart wants to."

She knew that, she really did, but it still felt so wrong! To know that Dylan and Harper were back on Andromeda where they belonged, and yet, somehow everything was still messed up and different.

"But as for this old captain," Patch continued talking, "Time for me to say so long."

"You're leaving already?" she cried, standing up as sadness shot through her. She'd been hoping to have some time to really reconnect with her godfather now that her friends were back safe and they weren't all in the middle of life or death peril.

"Got to. Didn't mind help you at all and I'd do it again at the drop of a hat, but there's bills to pay. You know the drill. Besides, I gotta to see how many of my crew decided to hang around and how many new punks I gotta break in to fill the vacancies."

The never-ending cycle of a freighter pilot's life – she did know it well, and when she was being completely honest with herself in the dead of night, she even admitted she missed it sometimes. It was a hard, crappy, living-hand-to-mouth kind of life, but it was also exhilarating in its freedom.

She nodded, walking around the big imposing desk.

"Thank you, Patch," she said, not even caring that she was still technically on duty as she wrapped her arms around him and poured all her emotions into one huge hug. "I can never repay you or thank you enough for what you did for me this time."

"No thanks needed, Becky-girl. Just keeping promises made a long time ago," he said gently, patting her back.

They stayed that way for a moment before he pulled back. "Now don't go blabbin' all this mushiness, okay? I got my reputation to keep up!"

"My lips are sealed," she said, smiling. "Valentine honor. Now come on, I'll walk you to your wreck of a ship."

"Watch it, Becky," Patch growled playfully as they stepped out of the office. "Never insult a man's lady, no matter how hard on the eyes she might be."

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Harper woke to the all-too-familiar feeling of his lungs constricting, unable to draw in enough air between hacking coughs to keep from panicking. Wave after wave of the convulsions seized him, and he curled up tight trying to ride through the breathlessness and pain, hoping to suck a little oxygen into his trembling body. After a moment, he felt gentle hands on his shoulders that pulled him carefully upright.

"Breathe, Mr. Harper. Just breathe," Dylan's voice urged him softly.

The change in positions helped, and after several more long minutes he was finally able to bring the ragged coughs under control. Still, for a while he just sat there, shaking.

"Can you sit on your own?" Dylan asked him after a moment.

He nodded, not daring to speak yet.

Dylan stepped away, but Harper could still hear his movements so he knew the captain hadn't left the room. After barely any time at all, he was back. He felt the bed he was sitting on rise up slightly at the head.

"Here," his friend said, stuffing several pillows between him and the med-bed, then gently pushing him back against them. "Deep breaths. Keep going, that's good."

Finally, Harper's breathing returned to normal, or at least what was normal for him these days. "Thanks," he muttered. Heaven knew this wasn't the first time he'd woken Dylan in the middle of the night with his coughing, but it was the first time the other man had been able to give him pillows to help fight it. That was certainly a plus.

"No problem," Dylan answered. "Here, drink some water."

A cup was placed in his good hand and he put it to his lips gratefully, drinking slowly. The water was cool and clean, another new perk. He drained it, then handed the empty cup back.

"Twig still asleep?"

"Yes," Dylan answered. "He stirred for a minute, but didn't actually wake. I think Trance may have given him something to help him rest."

"Good. Kid needs it."

"So do you."

Another coughing fit seized him before he could answer, but this one wasn't as long or as harsh. Sitting up really did help.

"Think I'll stay up for a while, Boss, if it's all the same to you," he finally said weakly.

"Okay," was all Dylan answered. The captain stepped away, most likely to return to his own bed, and a sudden irrational burst of panic welled up inside Harper.

"Wait, Dylan!" he cried, reaching out.

"Yes?"

He blushed, embarrassed by his outburst. "Erm, nothing," he tried to backpedal, shaking his head. This wasn't their prison barrack, their disgusting pile of straw. There was no longer any need to huddle together like sardines in a filthy can for warmth and support. They were safe – back on the Andromeda. And he was being ridiculous.

Yet, even as he sat on that soft bed, propped up by pillows and covered in the warm blankets, Harper couldn't help feeling so exposed and helpless. The empty, quiet space of their private recovery room yawned around him, exacerbated by the constant dark void he existed in now. He missed the physical connection to his friends, that ever-present reminder that he really wasn't alone.

Dylan stepped away, back to his own bed, and Harper closed his eyes. It was easier to pretend that the blackness around him was natural that way and not because he was worthless and broken. Still, they popped back open in surprise a few seconds later when he heard the unmistakable sound of something dragging across the floor.

"I've never understood why these things didn't have wheels on them," Dylan muttered, his voice slightly strained.

Harper grinned. A few more squeaks and grunts, a long metallic scraping sound, and then he felt the edge of something bump up against his bed by the wall.

"Trance is gonna have a fit when she sees you rearranged her furniture," he teased, unable to hide the pure gratitude.

"Probably," the captain replied, not sounding very worried at all. The bed that Dylan had moved beside Harper's shifted slightly and he knew Dylan had climbed on, sitting next to him. Sighing in quiet relief, he leaned back against his pillows and tried to relax, to keep the coughing fit from returning.

They sat in silence for a while, Harper safe in the knowledge that he wasn't alone. For the first time since being back, he let himself listen. Twig's steady, quiet breathing came from just a few feet away, telling him the boy was sleeping peacefully. From the far right of the room he heard the light hum of machines and monitors, a reminder that Andromeda was ever-present, keeping watch as well. Concentrating harder, he focused his sensitive ears and found he was able to pick out the tiny buzz of Andromeda's engines, quietly running, keeping them all safe and alive.

His thoughts drifted back, way back to the last time he'd sat in the dark and listened to the engines of a spaceship hum. Those had been his first few hours of blindness, and they were wrapped in a hazy memory of agony, fear and despair. At that time, he'd been absolutely sure he'd never make it back to Andromeda, never again hear those engines he loved so much purr.

"Thanks," he suddenly said to Dylan without really thinking.

"You don't need to thank me, Harper. You're not the only one finding it hard to forget or adjust," the other man replied, his voice absolutely sincere.

"Good to know, but that wasn't really what I was talking about, though thanks for that, too," Harper said.

"Oh, well then, what?"

"Just…thanks. Thanks for everything." Harper turned toward his friend, hoping Dylan would see how serious he was being for once in his life. "For what you did. For what you keep doing. For giving up so much and sticking with me, always being there, always watching out for me, even when I'm such a mess. Without you, I know I wouldn't have survived long enough to even make it to the camp. I'd have died on that march out there. Or, more likely, I probably wouldn't have made it off Felix's ship in the first place because I would have done something deliberately stupid to make them finish me off. I owe you my life a thousand times over, and I don't even know where to start with repaying that."

Dylan didn't answer right away and as the silence stretched, Harper started to wonder if he'd crossed a line. Maybe, now they were home, the captain would rather forget about it all. Maybe he deeply regretted his decision to throw everything away just to keep a scrawny Kludge alive.

When the other man finally did speak, however, his voice was rough with emotion. "Contrary to popular belief," his friend said, "I wasn't an only child."

"Huh?" Harper responded eloquently, unsure how this conversation had just moved so quickly from left to right field. Dylan squeezed his shoulder, a gesture of friendship and support, and an unspoken plea to hear him out. He clamped his lips shut.

"CJ was four years younger than me. He was funny and impulsive, with a wickedly sarcastic sense of humor, the life of every party. He was also brilliant and driven, fiercely loyal. We were as different as night and day, but that didn't matter. He was my brother and my best friend all rolled into one and we did everything together."

Dylan sighed, then spoke again in a broken voice. "He died three weeks before his eighteenth birthday."

"What happened?" Harper asked softly, still confused by the sudden change of topic but drawn into the story nonetheless.

"Just a normal game of basketball between brothers. He took a ball from me to the head, but laughed it off and went on to win the game. We went in, ate dinner with my parents and went to bed. He never woke up. The doctors said it was a cerebral aneurysm. He'd had it since he was born, but a blow in just the right place had caused it to rupture. He bled out in his sleep."

Harper wanted to say "I'm sorry" or "it wasn't your fault", offer comfort the same way Dylan had all those times he'd let the demons of his own past slip out, but his coughs chose that moment to return. As he rode out the convulsions and pain, the captain sat silently, strong, supporting hands keeping him upright. He was shaking again when he finally leaned back against the pillows – aching, breathless, and worn out.

"You blamed yourself…didn't you? When he died?" he whispered, still trying to ease the strain on his tortured lungs. He knew exactly what it was like to carry the guilt of a failure like this.

"Yes," Dylan answered, his voice still very raw. "For a long time."

The conversation died for a while, Dylan lost in his thoughts of the past while Harper closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. When the other man spoke again, his voice was soft and sad.

"You remind me so much of him, Harper."

Harper turned toward his friend in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes, you, Seamus Zelazny Harper. From the moment you and Beka and everyone else joined me on this pipedream mission, all I could see when I was around you was CJ. It…it opened up old wounds, brought back the pain I thought I'd managed to hide away.

"So, I took the coward's way out. I kept you at arm's length, more than anyone else on the crew, never letting you get too close. I kept things formal and cool between us, which I know left you hurt and confused. All you ever did was work harder, try to win my respect and friendship, when the reality was you had it all along. I was just too afraid of the past to let it show."

Sitting on the med-bed as he listened to Dylan's admission, Harper was stunned. He had no idea what to say in return.

"I should have told you all this years ago. I should have confessed sometime during those months of hell in the camp. At the very least I should have let you know about CJ when you told me about Colleen. But Harper, I was scared. Terrified. Because, the honest truth is that I do care. Despite every bull-headed thing I did to keep you from getting close, you found a way around them all. You're family, Harper. And I lived in panic every day that I was going to lose you, too. That no matter how hard I tried or what I did, it wouldn't be enough to keep you alive."

Harper hadn't heard the captain's voice sound so rough and tear-filled since the day he'd watched him say goodbye to Sara for the last time. It brought tears he couldn't hold back to his own eyes.

"So, Harper," Dylan continued softly, but with an urgency to his words. "I want you to know all this, and I want you to understand something. I will never, ever regret the decision I made on Felix's ship, and I would make the same choice again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, if it meant I could in any way spare you more pain. Not because I was protecting my crew. Not because I felt honor or duty bound to do it. But because you're my friend, Harper, and I didn't want to have to face a life without you in it. I didn't want to lose another brother."

Now the tears really did crest Harper's unseeing eyes, and he turned away slightly, wiping at his face self-consciously with the back of his good hand as Dylan continued.

"And you are not in any way indebted to me for saving your life, because I didn't save your life, you saved mine. You reminded me what loyalty and friendship mean. You called me on my bullcrap and helped me see what a jerk I was becoming, how far from my self-proclaimed mission I was straying. You showed me that I hadn't become the man I'd hoped CJ could have been proud of. You gave me hope and laughter and kindness and strength in a place that actively tried to kill all those things. Your friendship and courage and determination got me through one day at a time in that pit. Without you there beside me, there's no way I would have survived. So, I'm the one who should be saying thank you, at least a thousand times over as well. And in some ways, I feel like even with all the horror and suffering, I came out a little richer, because I have a younger brother again."

Dylan finished speaking, and for a while, Harper just sat there, trying to process everything.

"I'm scared, Dylan," he finally whispered, his turn to abruptly change the conversation's direction. "I'm scared and I'm angry and it all feels so hopeless. We got rescued, saved and brought home, and now everything gets to go back to normal for everyone else – but me. It's not fair! I just want to see again!"

"I know."

"What do I do? How can I be…me…if I can't do what I love, if I don't even have eyes or hands that work? When I'm just useless now?"

Suddenly, Dylan's fingers were brushing against his neck, tugging carefully at the thin string he wore around it, pulling his rabbit's foot loose from the folds of his clothes. The captain placed it firmly in his good hand and closed his fingers around it.

"Colleen couldn't walk or talk. Was she useless? Not worthy of having around?"

The words were like a bucket of cold water being dumped over his head, and Harper sucked in a ragged, surprised breath. "No!" he answered fervently.

"Well, the same goes for you. Your worth is not tied to your eyes or your hands. It's not even tied to your ability to be a genius engineer. You're more than that. Much more. There's a little boy right here that loves you with his whole heart. You changed his entire world, without hands or eyes. That's not an insignificant thing."

Harper clutched the small, soft piece of his past tightly, his eyes squeezed shut. "I know, Boss. I know. But what will I do, if I stay this way forever?"

"I don't know," Dylan answered him honestly, the sadness thick in his voice again. "I don't know how we're going to fix all of this yet. But I'm not going anywhere – none of us are. Give us a chance to try?"

Harper didn't answer, just let the conversation die off as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, still stroking the rabbit's foot. They were safe, but there was still so much uncertainty, so much fear. They could talk in circles all night and it wouldn't solve anything. Still, there was one thing more he wanted to know. "Dylan?" he eventually asked.

"Yes?"

"What did CJ stand for?"

"Carmichael James."

He shook his head in disbelief. "No offence, Boss, but man, your folks were lousy at names."

"I couldn't agree more," Dylan said with a small laugh. "Now, try and get some more sleep."

Harper just nodded and slowly moved his aching body to lie down, exhaustion already trying to drag him back into its clutches.