Title: History

Author: Leigh

Fandom: Andromeda

Pairing: Harper/Tyr

Rating: NC-17 - m/m

Status: New - PWP - follows on from Available but can be stand alone

Archive: Feel free - but let me know where

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made

Summary: Harper and Tyr work on their communication skills

Warning: Small spoilers for "Immaculate Perception" and some images inspired by Q&A session with KHC earlier this year

Thank you: To April and Naomi

History
by Leigh

I knew he’d gone for good. Didn’t matter what Dylan said; I knew.

It wasn’t exactly unexpected. I mean, as far I’m concerned people - and let’s stretch a point here and include Niets in that description - really only act one way.

They fuck you up, fuck you over and then fuck off.

Doesn’t matter who they are or whether they planned it, you’re still gonna wake up one morning and find out they’re just a memory, good or bad.

So when I say he was gone, I mean like gone gone, totally and forever. Arrivederci, sayonara and don’t let the escape pod hit you on the way out.

Basically Tyr was history.

And that’s what I told Dylan.

So I think the main thing I felt when he came back was - embarrassed.

---------------------------------------------------------

The universe hates you; deal with it. The gospel according to Seamus Zelazny Harper, philosopher, genius and universe-class expert in dealing. So when I was lying on my bunk in the Maru, a few hours after Tyr got back, that’s what I was doing. Dealing. That’s all. I certainly wasn't trying to avoid anyone; I just felt like being there. As opposed to anywhere else. OK?

But, just for the sake of argument, say a person was looking for somewhere, um, unobtrusive to be by themselves to…to think…or whatever then - maybe - the crew quarters of the Maru might be a good place. If, for example, Rommie’s sensors had…developed…a small blind spot. Or something. That might be the place. I’m only talking theoretically you understand.

Anyway, like I said, I was dealing. And you gotta admit, I had a shitload of stuff to deal with.

Just for the amusement of latecomers at the back, let's recap. Tyr goes missing and - perfectly reasonably in my opinion, given the circumstances - I give him up for dead thereby earning Dylan's scorn, Beka's pity and a withering look from Scary Trance, although I admit the last one’s a fairly common occurrence since my perky purple playmate got her cold gold respray. And to be honest, I prefer it to Beka feeling sorry for me.

Then, in the midst of all this hilarity and just to prove you can never trust a Niet to do the right thing, Tyr comes back and I just have to cap the whole pitiful display of Harper-in-crisis by hugging the treacherous bastard. In front of the aforesaid Dylan, Beka and the gilded iceberg from another dimension.

And that's when it gets really freaky.

Because, instead of breaking my arms off at the elbows and disembowelling me, Tyr looked surprised and then kinda pleased and didn't that make me feel like a complete prick!

Why? Well, perhaps cos you could say I was over-compensating, proving to Dylan that I wasn't a heartless freak who would happily leave a crewmate behind. Or maybe it was a pre-emptive strike in case Tyr got to hear about my plans for abandoning the search and bravely running away. Either way, it wasn't the simple 'welcome home, I'm glad you didn't die horribly' it might have looked like to Tyr. And when he ruffled my hair I felt like several different kinds of asshole because, basically, when you come right down to it, Dylan had more faith in Tyr than I did.

And that hurt.

Made me mad, too, that I gave Captain Sanctimonious another opportunity to set up camp on the high ground, looking down on us inferior post-apocalypse types who have no conception of loyalty, decency and the Academy-approved way to behave in all situations including the potential loss of a ‘valued’ colleague. You know, sometimes I wonder how they got all that moral fibre into one - admittedly built! - High Guard captain and still found room for vital organs. He's like this perfect device for measuring decency or something, maybe they should franchise him. The Dylan Hunt Decentometer, every home should have one. Yeah, that's Dylan, a pint and a half of wholesome chunky goodness in every bite.

I wish!

Um, you can probably tell I still got a bit of stuff going on with Dylan. Beka used to reckon I had a bad bout of hero worship - yeah, like she can talk! - but as any good schizo can tell you, I'm in two minds about that one. Truth is, he messes me up a bit. I mean, he's gorgeous, right? And he's got the whole saviour-of-the-universe thing going on and sure, sometimes, I like to bask if he deigns to notice I've done good.

But that doesn't mean I trust him 100%. And I think I've got good reason for that. In fact, you know why I've never really trusted him? Right from the beginning? That FMS he had me build and then used to threaten Beka. No one threatens Beka, specially not using me to do it.

So I like to keep an edge when I'm dealing with him, just enough so he doesn't notice.

Fr'instance, I was the guy who set up his surprise birthday party, OK? But don't forget I was also the guy who decided exactly how surprised he'd be and over-rode Rommie to do it. That way I got it all - rep as a nice, caring guy, a little harmless Dylan-torturing and an excuse to get at the good booze.

Doesn't sound like much but it keeps me from doing something worse when he steps over the line.

Anyway, back to Tyr and why I was so quick to give up on him. And why I felt so bad when he was gone.

It wasn't just that there was a definite absence of tall, dark and brooding at that moment - after all, nothing new there. We all go out on solo runs or cargo trips and it isn't like Tyr and I live in each other's pockets. Maybe twice a week or so he shows up in my quarters and fucks me blind. Sometimes he stays the night, sometimes not.

I don’t ever go looking for Tyr in his quarters. When you come right down to it, he's still a Niet and I've still got issues. Plus there's only so much rejection one brilliant, sexy yet sensitive engineer can take and still keep a super super-ego intact, trust me on that one.

Yeah, me and Tyr fuck. So what? It's not like I've got feelings for him or anything. I gave that crap up years ago. The whole love thing is something you grow out of real fast on Earth. I mean, obviously I love Beka and yeah, OK, I still got warm thoughts for Trance, even though I'm not sure she's still here, if you know what I mean, and Rommie is...is my beautiful cyber-babe and well, I guess I'd do a lot to save Dylan, if you come right down to it. Even Rev is - was - part of my life for a few years so you get used to looking out for each other. But all that, it's just survival, right? Watch someone's back while they watch your's so you've got a better chance of seeing off the next Big Nasty that thinks there's one Harper too many in the universe. Otherwise love makes you weak, makes you vulnerable. That's one lesson I don't need repeating cos I learn quick, you know? I don’t need it beaten into me more than, oh, eight or nine times before I’ve got it off pat.

No, Harper the Heartless, that's me. And that's just the way I like it.

See, unsurprisingly, Earthers have the lowest life expectancy in the known systems so I figure why not drink, eat and have as good a time as possible so when it’s my turn I’m used up but happy. Unfortunately before Tyr came along I'd been a long time between meals, if you get my drift. So when he jumped me I was more than happy to play sex toy to his satyr, without needing answers to sappy questions like 'where are we going with this?'. I'm a guy. I'm getting laid regularly. What else would I need to know?

But even apart from the whole sex thing it's probably true to say that Tyr and I aren't exactly indifferent to each other. Believe it or not, we've got a whole lot in common, more than most of the rest of the crew, even me and Beka. In fact, considering there’s usually complete and utter polar disagreement between us on everything, starting with the fact that I’m an Earther and he’s a violent psychopath and building from there, we don’t do too badly.

Of course, there was still the little matter of him taking off. And where he'd been. And who with. And why. But we've not been talking about that. And when I say 'we', I mean me and Tyr. Tyr and Dylan obviously find talking about it no problem, given that he seemed to know pretty much everything about Tyr's 'wife'. And kid. While the guy he's banging is completely clueless.

Geez, bitter much, Harper?

I'm not saying we don't talk. We do. Granted Tyr's contribution does tend to consist of 'Hush, boy' or 'Be quiet, Harper' or occasionally 'If you do not cease this inane prattling, I will be forced to hurt you' so I guess you could say the conversations aren't exactly meaningful. But hey, we're communicating in our way. And that's not always verbal.

So why did I have this tight, hard feeling in my chest, like someone just lasered my teddy bear or something? Crap. I guess somewhere along the line I must have let my guard down after all, allowed myself to think that maybe there was something more going on here than just getting laid. Which left me right back where we came in. Dealing.

Anyway, I was lying there, convincing myself I wasn't feeling hurt or embarrassed about anything and not, absolutely not, avoiding anyone, when it gradually began to dawn on me the person I definitely, honestly wasn't avoiding was standing in the doorway watching me. Call it Harper's Intuition or tell the truth and go for a mudfoot’s highly developed survival skills - you really better know when someone’s watching you on Earth, you can work out the why later- coupled with the special aroma - eau-de-Tyr-in-leather - that told me just who was doing the watching.

I cracked open one eye to check and even though I was mad at him and just the tiniest bit wary, my mouth still went dry. If you were trying to ignore someone they had no right to look that good.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as near slouching as an uptight, over-trained, deeply intense Niet ever gets and looking good enough to eat whole. Finger-lickin' good.

"Oh crap."

There was a half-snort from the doorway. That’s Niet-speak for ‘I am condescending to be amused by your display of manifest inferiority’.

I closed my eye again and pulled the pillow over my head for good measure, even though I was betting the bastard still wouldn't get the hint. That's a thing about Niets. They may be physically superior but subtlety's completely wasted on them.

"I had gained the impression you were pleased to see me," he purred at me. See? And yeah, he sounded amused. Asshole.

"That was then, this is now. I could really do with a little privacy here, Tyr, so run along and find something to sharpen like a good Nietzschean and leave me the fuck alone."

Whoops. That last bit didn't sound like the harmless, not-worth-the-effort-damaging-in-painful-ways Harper persona I normally like to use around, well, most people, really. Unless I've got the forcelance and it's pointing at their head.

"If you didn't want to be found, boy, you should have left the ship entirely. Sometime yesterday. And

even that would only have given you a head start."

Funny thing, he wasn't sounding so amused now. Perhaps he was smiling on the inside. I sat up and gave him my best nonchalant grin.

"Like you did, you mean?"

He gave me a brooding look, a real Anasazi special. The sort where diodes start to melt at thirty paces.

"That was different. I was not playing some stupid game -"

"What?"

"I was trying to protect my family, my son."

"Oh yeah, the family we’ve all heard so much about. Or actually, haven’t. What’s with that, Tyr? It was so important, so crucial, it sort of slipped your mind?"

The slouch was completely gone by now and he took one step towards me.

"It is not something I care to talk about."

"And yet you told Dylan. Well, I can see that, the two of you being so close and everything."

Now he was looking really pissed. Way to go, Harper. That was what you wanted, wasn't it?

"Be very careful, boy."

There's a tiny possibility that, up to this point, I may have under-stated how mad I really was. Embarrassed? Sure. Hurt? Well, I still wasn't up for examining that too closely. But mad? Oh, I had a whole heap of resentment piled up that made it fairly obvious there was going to be a frank and free exchange of views, here. And not even the fact I was about to get in the face of a guy who's taken the comment 'does not play well with others' as the central tenet of his life's philosophy was going to stop me.

See, most of what I show is just that. Show. The reaction that makes people go ‘Harper…’ with a big sigh, like they don’t expect anything more. Leaves me wriggle-room. But just occasionally, I get mad enough to show things. Anger, hurt, the whole enchilada. And that 'boy' had just flipped the final switch.

I swung down from my bunk and in two paces I was right there, toe to toe, nose to nose.

Well, OK, nose to nipple in my case. And there's a lot to be said for being the right size for that if you're gonna get upclose and personal with Tyr Anasazi. Even though I was mad at him I took a few seconds to admire the view. Definitely a vista to visit - black slash shirt framing an entirely lickable chest with easy access for the hard and horny.

He doesn't wear the chain mail anymore, says it got damaged when one of the Commonwealth's billion less-than-friendly neighbours dropped by. But if you keep asking, he'll admit it just wasn't that comfortable to wear on Andromeda cos of the oxidation leaving pretty patterns all over that killer bod.

Course, that isn't the real reason. The real reason is cos the first time I saw the lean mean killing machine with his dreads caught in his chainmail shirt I laughed myself sick. And the second time. There wasn't a third time - he's never worn it since.

Shame, cos even before Tyr and I got to sharing body space, I couldn't help noticing that those perky little nipples were just the right size to fit through a link and catch. In fact, many a Harper Happy Hour was spent playing pervy peekaboo on Tyr's chest. And when I got the chance to actually get my hands on them - well, let's just say they were perking rather more than they were resting, if you get my drift.

Hey, maybe that's the reason he doesn't wear it anymore. After all, even Ubers must chafe.

I miss it. But as Beka points out - usually after a visit to some seedy bar on one of the drifts - I like bright shiny things. And Tyr's shinier than most, even without the chainmail. But I digress. The point was, I was in Tyr’s space and I was there for a reason. A different reason from that.

"Careful? Why? What you gonna do to me, Tyr? Slap me around a bit? Teach the kludge a lesson? Well, I hate to break it to you but I’ve been there, done that. Hey, I might even enjoy it, what do you reckon? Worth a shot. I embraced my inner perv years ago, how about you?"

"Pah!" He actually said ‘pah!" I thought no one ever said that apart from villains in bad holos from before the fall. And I’m sure they never got quite that amount of contempt into one little syllable.

But I wasn’t expecting the spike of pain that ran through me as he turned away in disgust at the crap coming out of my mouth. The wave of lust as I grabbed hold of his arm was less of a surprise, even though I was starting to scare myself, messing with a pissed-off Niet without the aid of anything sharp and pointy aimed somewhere vital.

"You try my patience, boy."

"So talk to me, Tyr. Tell me what’s going on." See? With enough of an incentive I can do sincere. Look, OK, I meant it, really meant it. I don’t like to see anyone in pain. Especially not me.

"It is…personal."

Remember what I said about rejection? Well, ladies and gentlemen, Harper's ego just left the building.

"Oh right. And fucking me isn't. I get that. Really. What was it? 'Does not alter pre-existing loyalties.' Yeah, I get that."

There was a hot stinging in my throat and that tight band round my chest suddenly contracted so I could hardly breathe. A look of intense fury flashed across Tyr's face and the back of his hand was coming towards me. I ducked really fast - I've had a lot of practice - but at the last moment his hand turned and he caught hold of my jaw, forcing my head up.

"And have you ever 'got' that perhaps what Dylan said once does have a grain of truth in it? That a battle plan rarely survives the first engagement?"

Just once, just one frigging time, it would be really nice if a Nietzschean - any Nietzschean! - could drop the double-talk and simply say what they mean. I wanted to spit at him. I snarled instead.

"And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Tyr?"

"Loyalties can - change, Harper."

He let go of my chin and ran a finger down my throat. OK it's true, I'm certifiable. Should be locked up in a padded room and left to draw pretty patterns in my own drool for the rest of eternity. Cos even though I'm still mad, still hurting - and, alright, still freaking embarrassed - I'm officially too turned on for my own good. From one touch.

I'm a sucker for touch; a slut for it. Touch me and I'll do anything you want, something Beka figured out pretty quick. Course, that's at the time. Take the touch away and I'll start thinking rationally but years of grabbing any kind of body contact going so you weren’t alone can mess up your reactions and before you know it the ‘gonna get some’ cells are shouting down the ‘mad as hell’ ones in your brain and you’re desperate for more touch, will do anything for it.

So I leant into the touch, couldn't help myself and when he grabbed hold of my shoulders and got me turned round, back to chest, I was already feeling that maybe a little half-naked wrestling - or even naked half-wrestling, I could go either way - wouldn’t be a bad thing. And anyway fighting was pointless cos I was surrounded by Tyr, covered by him. A blanket of hard, hot Tyr with his warm breath on my neck and a curtain of soft dreads caressing me.

I was clamped in place, one huge arm across my chest, the other running all over me and, crap, I think everything was melting and getting stiff at the same time, all I could do was hold on while I started to shudder. Then he was delving into my pants and I gave up completely. I leant my head back against the solid wall of muscle and pushed into his hand, feeling him humping against me, loving it.

"Easy," I moaned, "I’m so freaking easy."

At least this time it was a full snort, a real ‘my sinuses are exploding out my nostrils and I can’t do a thing about it’ snort.

"You are many things, Harper - most of them irritating in the extreme - but I can assure you ‘easy’ is not amongst them."

Smartass. I was going to say something. If I could have spoken. But by then all I could feel was his hand closing round me, jerking me off in perfect rough strokes so in the end I just closed my eyes and rode out the breaker that rolled up my body and smashed over me in a white-out that had me gasping and drowning.

My legs gave up the fight and I sort of slithered down into a crumpled heap - taking care to grope every available inch of hard muscle as I went. The Harper may have been down but he is never out.

I wasn't down for long either. As I blinked hazily up at him, Tyr grabbed hold of my wrists and heaved me up and over to the bunk. There's probably something wrong with me but getting mauled about, getting it rough, does strange things to my mind and stranger things to other bits of me. Bits that, by rights, should be less than interested given they've already had theirs. Instead I was still tingling, heck I was throbbing. Didn't stop me grunting when he dumped me on the bunk and stripped me, banging my knee on the side as he twisted me in ways even the Harper, your flexible friend, isn't supposed to bend. I like it rough not painful.

"Ow!"

"Be quiet, boy."

Right. Communication still one-way, here. I was gonna complain but he was already slicking me up and just where does he get that ever-ready supply of lube from anyway? You think it might be one of those genetic modifications we're not told about? Who cares cos fuck, fuck, fuck he was suddenly right there and boy was I getting a lesson in communication skills. Each thrust went deeper and deeper and all I could do was go along for the ride, fucked harder and harder until I thought my head would come off, until that big hard hand was back round my cock, not pumping, just squeezing, tighter and tighter, until I exploded with a whimper not a bang and felt the shudder of warmth and wetness inside that meant Tyr had been right there with me.

I was out for the count. Days of being wound up tighter than Dylan's ass and then getting fucked into orbit will do that to a guy. When I finally started to take notice of little things like who I was and why keeping a pile of handi-wipes under the pillow would be a good thing, Tyr had shifted away, was lying next to me, not touching.

Take the touch away and I start thinking rationally? Huh, I even lie to myself. Before I could think at all I was over there, over him, clinging on in a full body hug, arms and legs as far round him as possible. And it was then I started thinking. And shaking.

See there’s that moment when I jack into some computer - magnified like 1000 times if it’s Rommie - when I’m just a collection of individuals cells, falling so fast it's like flying and when you hit the bottom it can be painful but it can be so perfect, an instant of total clarity, when you own the world you're in and you are a freaking god. Then it's over and you have to suck it up and do whatever you're in there for. Before you get thrown out and you're just you again. A mudfoot with issues and history. History that tells you there's only one person who'll ever be really loyal to you, who's in it for the long run, and that's Seamus Zelazny Harper.

So now what? Game over, thank you for playing? Or do I want to see what’s behind door number 2? Does Tyr? Is that what he meant about shifting loyalties?

Crap. Good questions. But I just knew I wasn't going to ask any of them, not of him. Not of me. Sometimes you don't want to know the answers. Perhaps, as Rev said, that's the beginning of wisdom.

After a few light years while I lay there holding on for grim death, I wasn't surprised to hear Tyr sigh and just sort of haul me up so he could see my face.

"Harper?"

You know, I tried, I really tried to come up with something snarky, snappy or even just plain coherent but in the end I opened my mouth and said the one thing I didn't want to.

"You were gone."

Well, duh!

He sighed again and grabbed hold of my hair, forcing me to keep looking at him.

"I came back. I was always coming back."

I stared at him for a long time then gave a jerky kind of half-nod and he let me go. I let my head slump back down onto his shoulder, deciding not to break the mood by rubbing it where he'd obviously been trying to pull my hair out by the roots. I hated to admit it, really, really hated it, but this time he was right. He came back. And that's a first.

One day, he'll actually be gone. Really gone. I know it. He knows it. Hell, history never lies.

But just for that moment I was leaning towards revisionism. And it felt good.


ENDS