Come Clean

Chapter Ten:

"Daddy!"

Beka followed Cath's pointing finger and yes, there was Tyr, meters away and apparently watching them. She couldn't even begin to describe the expression on his face: confusion? Conflict? But then Cath was fighting to get down and running to him once she was, and it was lost as he caught her and said something that Beka didn't quite hear as she approached. "I wouldn't wind her up too much," she told him, as casually as she could. That assessment before she knew he was looking had her stomach back in knots. "I just gave her lunch, so she should sleep soon. Also? Upset stomachs? Unlikely but not fun."

He smiled faintly, setting Cath down as she wriggled. "I'm aware."

Beka had turned her head to follow Cath and now she looked back up at him sharply. "You're remembered more, or is this general knowledge?"

"I remembered more." He was watching her again, an intent gaze that made her skin prickle with awareness of his proximity. "Not much of the last year yet, but our marriage, her birth…"

And everything around it, presumably. She licked her lips nervously. "At this rate you'll have everything by the time I'm out of Command tonight."

"Perhaps. I was told the recovery would be exponential."

"Right." She looked away, grateful of the girl by her feet as a distraction. "Well. Tell me when I get back? If you need help Mara's aware, but Cath'll probably sleep for at least some of the afternoon, and you can ask Mara or Andromeda if you're not sure what she'll eat. So you should be okay." She crouched down to Cath. "Go easy on your dad, all right? I'll see you later." With a quick kiss to the top of her head she left them, still avoiding Tyr's eyes.

Command was extremely boring. They were still in orbit after dropping off the Mayhoran leader, Dylan still having to tie up the last loose ends, and the rumors of them being sent somewhere else were still rumors only. Beka spent most of her stint standing at the pilot's station watching the rest of the shift doing maintenance and the like. It was not diverting enough to keep her from her thoughts.

Mostly they revolved around what exactly Tyr had remembered. If he had everything by the time she got back, there was decent chance she'd be on the Maru for the night, whether or not she told him about the suspicion that was only becoming more certain. That last fight… She'd been hurting and frustrated, but she'd been vicious, and afterward had regretted most of her words. Not all: some of them had been bitten back a long time before.

But Nietzscheans revered wives and mothers. She may be Human, but there was a chance that he'd stay regardless of how he felt, especially if she told him after all. She didn't like the idea of him staying out of obligation, though, as much as she disliked the idea of him leaving. So maybe she shouldn't tell him, at least not yet? But dishonesty would hardly help, either, never mind that she knew he had to be keeping at least some of his own secrets…

And round and round it went for hours, with far too few interruptions, and she was relieved when Rommie came in to take over the overnight stretch. At least she'd be able to get an answer once she went to their quarters, even if it wasn't an answer she wanted.

She wasn't looking forward to this.

Their quarters were quiet when she got there. Not only did Cath seem to be asleep, fortunately, but Tyr was sitting silently in a chair with a book again. He didn't seem to be actually reading it.

"Quiet night," she volunteered when he didn't greet her. "Everything go well? You get her down?"

"Yes." He didn't say anything else, just watched her as she walked through. Her intent was ostensibly to take off her choker necklace, but practically it was to do something other than feel him stare. Right as she closed the drawer she kept it in, he added, "It's only been a week, after all."

Ah. "So you remember everything, then." She turned, but couldn't face him, looking instead at the painting opposite. He'd done it not quite two years before; once she'd realized he painted shirtless she'd made excuses to be wherever he'd set up an easel, not that he hadn't figured her out soon enough. It had taken him longer than it should have to finish it. But that had been two years ago. She didn't realize she'd raised her hand until she felt the helix under her fingers.

"I do." He stood and she controlled the flinch. He wasn't even near her and she knew he wouldn't touch her, but he was physically imposing when he wasn't angry and she'd seen how he could destroy someone when he was. He didn't come any closer, but then he didn't have to, able to project every nuance of hurt and fury as he continued. "And having done so I'm not sure why you want to be married to me regardless of what I choose."

And with that he walked out.

Beka let out a long, shaky breath. He'd still been mad when he left for Mayhora, so she shouldn't be too surprised that he still was now that he'd gotten all of it back, but the last couple of days without all that history hanging over them had lulled her into a false sense of security. No, not without all their history, because she'd seen him soften a little as he remembered more, the cautious cool gaze of two days before melting into at least acceptance of his circumstances and warmth towards Cath, if not her. Without that last fight. For months it had been small arguments and flare-ups, tiny moments of irritation morphing into snark and asides that could be smoothed over or forgotten quickly, but the night before Mayhora had been far more than that.

The Commonwealth had told Dylan that he had to run the extraction and he'd tapped Tyr for it. He'd spend the day trying to find out more about the conditions they'd be working against with little luck, she'd spent the day trying to get the Maru ready for the other two to take out, and both of them had been tired and frustrated after hours of unresolved work. It had been crowned by Cath fighting bed that night, nothing about her routine going right and the girl herself overtired and cranky. At the edge of patience, Beka had muttered about it being just as well— And she'd cut herself off, but Tyr had heard and pressed for the rest, at the limit of his own patience.

"Can't what?"

"Can't have another. Okay? It's just as well we can't seem to have another!"

And that had set it all off. At one point she'd actually accused him of deliberately preventing it, using her for his own purposes and stringing her along. She regretted that, if only because while she'd believe he'd use her for his own purposes she also knew how much the last few months had bothered him. Of course, then he'd implied it was something she was doing, and she'd asked why she should believe him, and the whole thing had just been… bad. So bad that she'd left for the Maru that night rather than sleep next to him.

That morning their only real contact had been exchanging Cath for her ship, and Dylan had been right there so any communication was perfunctory at best, not that either of them were past just glowering at each other. When he'd come back she'd greeted him civilly and carried on with her own obligations while he dealt with the remaining details from the trip; that night she'd already been in bed and he'd barely disturbed her when he slipped in later, probably deliberately. And then the next morning he'd woken up and asked who Cath was.

She sighed and slid down to the floor, still with her hand on her helix. If he'd remembered that argument— and she actually was as mean as she remembered herself being— she may as well jettison it straight out the airlock now. Possibly into a black hole. Not that he'd exactly been kind and gentle, either. Suggesting that it was something in her genetics that was the problem had been pointed enough before he'd insinuated that it may have been her own addiction causing it, never mind that she'd fought almost literally tooth and nail sometimes to keep clean and he knew it. Of course, that had been after she'd accused him of planning to abandon her, too, when she couldn't not be aware of what a sore point that was for him.

Slowly, precisely, Beka opened the clasp of her helix and let it fall into her hand. Maybe it was better this way. Cath wouldn't remember them ever being together, might not even remember Tyr if he left soon enough for a more appropriate wife, but it wasn't like being old enough to remember her own parents' fights and her mom leaving had done her any good. It was probably for the best, letting him go chase his life's goals without them holding him back. She hadn't planned to raise a kid or two by herself, but she could if she had to, and it wasn't like she hadn't always known he'd leave eventually. Everyone did, after all, although maybe not this dramatically. She closed her eyes briefly, wishing she were on the Maru. "One more time, huh, Dad? History repeating itself."

She turned the helix over in her hands, wondering if she should even put it back on after her shower that night. It was probably better this way, but she didn't have to like it. She'd agreed to the rest of their lives, not just two years, and she didn't want to be the one to call it quits. But they couldn't keep living like this.

Tyr didn't have a destination in mind when he left their quarters. He just needed to be out, away from the reawakened memories of last week and away from his failures. He kept going, seeking solitude, and eventually reached the lower decks, empty enough right now that he could run. So run he did, driving up and down the ramps and around curves until he was exhausted, the pounding of his feet on the plating not enough to drown out his own thoughts.

No wonder she was sure he'd refuse to stay married. He'd deceived her and undercut her often enough that she rightfully didn't trust him to have her welfare in mind. He'd failed to give her another child. Infertility might be a reason for divorce among Nietzscheans, but cruelty was another, and some of the words they'd hurled at each other the night before Mayhora had been cruel indeed. A Nietzschean woman would have divorced him before now, taken off her helix before he'd even left for that godforsaken planet, because a man who would treat his wife like that wasn't worthy of her.

That whole trip to Mayhora had been the same thought over and over again, once his anger at both of them had cooled at all: he should offer her her freedom. That would be the end of his chances with any Nietzschean woman, because his appearance, his accomplishments, his lineage? All of it meant nothing if he let his first wife die and then couldn't keep a second wife, even a Human wife. It wouldn't matter that it was as much Freya's choice to sacrifice herself for their son, or that Beka wouldn't be considered a suitable wife in the first place in a pride. He had failed them both, more than once, and with Beka it had started with that first encounter on the Maru three years before.

He should have done better. Not a statement of guilt or regret, but a fact. And now through his own actions he had choices that were none of them ideal choices at all. To let Beka go and maybe lose Catherine with her, to stay and potentially engender more ill will, to stay to smooth the wrinkles and mend the tears in the hope that she was willing to do the same? If they both stayed, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be trapped in the same arguments again months or years later, with potentially even more at stake, with more opportunities for him to have let slip about Tamerlane. And if by some chance they had succeeded in making another baby these last few weeks, what would be its fate? Would Beka still be willing to carry it if she left? If he left?

This was pointless. At last he couldn't run anymore, but he didn't want to return to their quarters to face her condemnation. He made his way to the Obs deck, likewise quiet and empty now, and while it was no place to escape the memories that crowded his mind now it was marginally safer than the Maru would be. He settled on a bench there, watching the planet below, and resigned himself to what would doubtless be a sleepless night.

He didn't know how to win her back, if he even could win her back. She might be persuaded, given her insistence on wearing her helix even when he didn't and with her history of giving second, third, and more chances, but with what persuasion? It wasn't worth trying to impress her as he would a Nietzschean woman, he had learned that long ago, and impressing her was hardly the most vital issue. He could hardly do more to impregnate her than he already had, assuming that it was not his fault, and he doubted that given the dual existences of Tamerlane and Catherine. Even that was not what she'd snarled at him that had carried the most weight: she didn't trust him. He didn't expect her to ever fully do so, that was folly, but after years beside him, after being his wife, after being the mother of his child, she still didn't trust him to factor her and Catherine's welfare into his calculations, didn't believe that she would have full control of childbearing, didn't know that he would stay.

If she were Nietzschean she would. But she was not Nietzschean, she was Human, and perhaps he'd neglected to consider that in marrying a Human he would have to adjust, even if she were so very Nietzschean in so many ways. While his intent in keeping things from her had been for everyone's best interest, he could see that she would feel slighted and mistrustful after his time with her. He would need to do better immediately, if she were willing to speak with him at all rather than just hand him her helix.

As soon as he was reasonably sure she would be awake he took the long walk back to their quarters. She was, and he took a moment to assess her mood as he went to greet his daughter, awake herself and eating breakfast. Beka was wearing the helix still, but didn't seem pleased to see him. She didn't say anything at all until after he'd resettled Catherine to her food and came over to her, and then all she offered was a flat, "Hi."

He was not surprised, with his newest revelations on his relationship, and she may have been further displeased with him not returning the night before. He could also smell the strength of her coffee and see the thin layer of makeup under her eyes, presumably hiding shadows, and he wondered if she hadn't slept the night before either because of what he had or had not done. He still needed to try.

"We have things to discuss, you and I," he murmured near her ear. It was hard to resist touching her, this close.

"Yeah. We do." She was carefully neutral when she looked at him, but she pressed her lips together in a way that meant she was annoyed. "I'm going to be on the Maru this afternoon again, so unless you have something more important than talking to me you can come by then."

That slam was perhaps deserved and he didn't comment on it. "And Catherine?"

"Should be asleep. Mara's taking her this morning since I have more pilot training to do and I don't know what you're planning to do."

"This afternoon, then." And he went into the bathroom to change, the others gone when he came back out.

Dylan contacted him almost as soon as that, asking him to stop by to go over anything he remembered from Mayhora, "Even if it's just to say you don't remember anything, so they'll stop asking me." The trip to his office yielded nothing but more obligations, including being told to go to Med deck to be signed off on as being fit for duty once Dylan realized that he had everything back, within a few sentences of going over the whole benighted operation. Tyr did it all, begrudgingly, and the whole time wanting nothing more than to chase down his wife and settle everything with her. Indecision and hesitancy, the uncertainty of it all, were not… beneficial.

The only relief in all of it was that Trance was not the one in Med deck when he went, but one of her less-unsettling assistants. He didn't have the patience for her cryptic nonsense that day.

At last he was able to collect Catherine from Mara and spend the rest of the morning with her, a relief from the expectations of the Commonwealth bureaucracy and from his own concerns. It was something he had had far too little opportunity to do lately, with the way crises tended to cluster on the Andromeda, but even as he enjoyed their time together he had a sense of dread over whether these days were numbered, if Beka were to tell him to go. He doubted she would, given her own history, but history was not a guarantee, only an a message from Beka via the AI, that she was delayed by a problem with one of the pilots, he took Catherine for lunch and to sleep on the Maru, in anticipation of Beka's arrival.

When the airlock opened he was waiting for her, leaning against the bar to give her the space to approach him.

"You had a problem with a pilot?"

She groaned. "Chen. Who apparently forgot how to pilot a slipfighter in the last week, judging by today. Bowlus has them running with the simulator with Fitzmore and Sunset, because I need all three of them to be able to not crash into everyone else."

"You could always send the three of them out together and ensure they only crash into each other," he suggested, relieved when she snorted in response. It felt normal.

"That would involve forms. No."

There was a pause at that, and he gestured to the dish on the bar surface. "I assumed you wouldn't have been able to eat. If you have, you can eat it later."

She looked sharply at him. "Softening me up?"

"Attempting to prevent you from skipping a meal. Would I be wrong to think that you were in a hurry and only had more coffee?" She grimaced. "I thought so." It was still a suspicious look that she cast at him, but she did move around him to get to the food, glancing into the bunkroom as she did. Checking on Catherine, presumably, although the girl was sound asleep. Without bothering to ask, Tyr got her a glass of water as well.

"Thanks. Though it was a protein bar and coffee, for the record." She still hesitated before taking a bite. "This is safe, right? You didn't poison it or anything?" He stared in disbelief. "Just checking! If you ever decide I'm inconvenient or a threat or something…"

"You are, at the moment, neither."

"At the moment," she repeated, with an eyeroll. "Depends on what you want to talk about, I guess." She started to eat anyway, hunger apparently overcoming skepticism.

He leaned back against the bar next to her, elbows resting on the edge. He felt extremely, uncharacteristically vulnerable and couldn't quite look her in the eyes. "Whether you want to be married to me still, after recent events."

Beka started coughing and he was alarmed, started to push up, but she waved him back, taking a gulp of water before answering. ""I thought," she said, after swallowing, "that that was my line."

"Your— No. If I've failed as your husband you have the choice to tell me to go. In a pride it would be your decision. With a few exceptions." He shifted, the unease making it as difficult to be still as it was to face her. "If you were Nietzschean you'd have told me to go already."

He heard a quiet clink as she set down her glass in the silence. Then: "Why?"

She must have been trying to make an ill-advised joke, he thought, or to be trying to mock him, but when he actually looked at her she seemed sincere, her own apparent nervousness making any other tells difficult. She pushed the plate away to rest on her forearms and look at him carefully. "Why would I tell you to go? From a Nietzschean perspective. I know why you'd tell me to."

"I haven't taken the ship." She blinked at that, but he continued. "I haven't proven myself in a pride. I have yet to father more of your children at your request. You don't trust me to have our best interests in mind, our child's best interests, only my own ambitions, which I also have yet to achieve. I have not… treated you as respectfully as I should. In a pride I would have long since been told to give you back your helix, perhaps lost any other wives for my failures." He looked away again, unable to face her, more unsettling than so many of their foes. "I forget, sometimes, that you wouldn't know just how much power you have, would have with a matriarch behind you."

"I do, actually. Which is why I was going to give you the chance, if you wanted to leave." It was her turn to be looking away now, when he frowned at her assumption that he would go. Her voice was soft even as her heart was racing in her chest. "I don't want you to, but you may have to, because we're so broken I don't know if we can be fixed."