Dead Men Don't Cry

A/N: Tyr's POV, or at least an attempt at it. A bit sappy and slightly angsty. Also, I apologize beforehand for any mispellings of names or anything. Review please!


Dead Men Don't Cry:

Chapter 2 - Least Expected


"Let me tell you a story."

Yes, I think I t dot do that - there's no clear reason not to anymore. Any dignity I claimed to have before is gone. Besides, he isn't that idiot android that spends all her time fawning over her *captain*, or that self rightious Magog priest.

Harper. The boy - no, man - that spent his life hating my kind, fighting and killing my people, all the while dreaming of freeing his precious earth from them, no matter the cost. Nietzscheans only rank second to Magog on his 'to kill' list. He pulls up a chair and straddles it, folding his arms across its back. Funny, I don't quite remember chairs in the sick bay before... No matter. He wants to hear about my defeat and dishonor? So be it. I just wonder why.

Of all the people that could be here, sitting across from me, he is the least expected and yet surprisingly perhaps the most welcome. The purple one would listen eagerly enough, but who knows what goes on behind those dark eyes? I had truely never trusted her, even back when she kept the guise of harmlessness. Now.... she was easier to be around, but I still would never expose my weaknesses to her like that. Beka - too opinionated, too hard to talk to. She would question my every word, weighing her idea of the truth against mine every moment in her mind. I could not hold under that scrutiny, not now, anyway. Before everyone felt such great pity for me, back when they all still could respect me, maybe then, but not now. Rommie would sooner kill me than let herself doubt her dear Dylan for even a moment. She hates me now, because I think the doubt is finally starting to settle in. She knew exactly what we were doing - right under her sensors, how could she miss it? The thought of Dylan choosing to use me to fuffil his needs instead of her must have been painful to say the least, but to know that her beloved could drive a proud Nietzschean to his death? Perhaps she already sees her own fate, but is powerless to stop it, much like I had been. The android won't listen to what I have to say, but maybe if Harper intervened he could stop her from becoming like me.

But why? Why was he here in the first place? Why had he been the last to try to leave? Why were his bright eyes still red with tears?

"But first I wish to hear something from you - what are you doing here?"

His face seems to turn an even whiter shade than usual as he struggles with my question. Somethings going on inside his head. He's flinching at his words even before he speaks them.

"I don't want you to do this again... I - I don't want you to kill yourself, Tyr."

He seems so uncomfortable saying this that I cannot help but laugh.

"Really? I didn't expect that answer from you of all people. I thought you would beasedased to know there was one less bone bladed Nietzschean for you to dispose of."

I realize I sounded much angrier than I feel and immediatly regret it when I see the hurt in his expression.

"That's so not fair! It's not like that at all," he protests.

He looks even worse than he did before, but continues too quickly for me to offer a word of apology.

"You're not like all the other Nietzscheans, Tyr."

I'm not sure I know all of his meaning by that.

"Do not imply things that you could not possibly mean," I warn him, then I wonder why I'm reading so much into the boy's words. He seems much more like a boy now than before. A small crimson cheeked child, with those quivering lips, those big, frightened eyes... I want to reach out to him, smother him against me, comfort him like no one has ever done before for either of us.

I am taken aback by the intensity of his feeling. Surely I am not the cause of such emotions...

"You don't get it, do you? Everything you do has an affect on everyone else, so when you fuck around with Dylan and then decide .. w.. when you try to..." The emotion in his voice fades into a sound of utter defeat and anguish.

By the progentor, what have I done? To cause so much pain to this human jto eto end my own? This is disgustiing. *I* am disgusting. He looks like he's being torn to pieces and if my wish for death was not what cauhis his tears, then I would reach for my knife once more.

"Harper-" I want to end this now: I cannot stand to see him like this any longer, but he stops me.

"How could you do this to me? God, all your stupid self pity and your motherfucking honor! Has it occured to you that some of us actually might care if you live or die? Have you even concidered the rest of us? What exactly are we all suppose to do after you're dead? What am *I* suppose to do?"

He *is* being torn apart, standing here falling to pieces in front of me, with that familiar despair in his eyes. Its the same look I see in the mirror every morning. I'm afraid that if I say something more that he will crumble, that I will break this delicate being, but I'm more afraid of what will happen to myself.

We just sit there in silence, the distance between the cot and chair suddenly seeming uncomfortably close, but neither of us move away - maybe we're both afraid of breaking this heavy stillness. For the first time in my life I am truely too ashamed to meet his eyes, though I can feel them boring into me. He hates me - I can feel it. He hates me because I can make him feel.... I'm not sure what he feels, but its too powerful for the both of us. It fills the empty silence and turns it into a hot, angry sea of emotions that threatens to drown us. I know that if I look up, if I dare to face him that all I will see is that hate and that alone will cause me more pain than any Highguard captain ever could.

I find my eyes traveling up towards his because of the indisputable fact that I can no longer control my need for self destruction. Who knows, perhaps if I anger him enough he might take pity and kill me himself. It would be a... pleasenter way to die, at the hands of another, rather than your own. Maybe that way I could regain a slight shred of dignity.... but no, I could never permit him to take such a burden upon himself. What I have apparently to to him already is horendous enough, but to leave this existance with my blood upon his hands is unfathomable. The guilt would be enough to drag my being back to life. How I could ever allow my self to consider such a... repulsive notion is further evidence that I am becoming a man of no honor what so ever.

Before I realize it I am loo rig right into a mix of color that has often reminded me of a tropic forest at the moment that the rain stops, when the little dropplets of water are still falling from the briliantly hued leaves and the air is clean, cool and still very damp. I am suddenly lost in them and trying to pull away from their unyielding grasp, and then I notice that I cannot see the hate I had been so afraid of. I almost feel relieved, but then I realize that hate is not the only emotion absent from his eyes, and a new fear takes life within me. Suddenly his pools of emotion have turned into an empty void that brings a sharp chill over me, and I feel the despair welling up inside of me. I never thought that emptiness could be so much worse than hate.

All of a sudden the silence is broken, but not lifted as the sound of his shifting weight reaches my ears. Something much more terrible takes its place - the knowledge that he is about to leave and I will not be able to stop him again. My words of regret, my pleas of forgiveness all become stuck in my throat as he walks towards that door once again. Now it is forever - if he leaves then I can never hope to find any happiness in what is left of this universe. Already the pain clouds over my eyes and a sudden blindness takes over my senses. Perhaps he is gone, perhaps he is still going. No matter - nothing can save me now.

"You don't even give a fuck, do you?" The words cut through my swimming confusion much like the knife that cut into my guts, but they cut deeper than that. They cut through the fear, the despair, the hopelessness - they free my hands and let loose my voice, and before I know it all that I feel at tsingsingle instant are formed into words as well.

"Don't leave me." The words sound pitiful coming from my lips, but they are powerful enough to stop his feet as he once again reaches the door. For a moment I think that he will just walk right out and leavesittsitting here - cold, weak, and alone. That is what I fear now most of all. Throughout my life I have remained alone always, but then again I also remained strong, unwielding. Now my strength has been taken from me and I must rely on his, and on what I feel.

He slowly turns towards me and I see that the veil of indifference has been lifted from his eyes. They reflect everything I feel and more - somethings that I see there I cannot even begin to describe - but most importantly I see that he might not go. He walks back towards me until he is right in front of me, and I can still feel the anger on his hot breath.

"Only if you promise me that you will stop."

"Harper-"

"Promise me, dammit! Promise me that you won't ever do this again. Promise me that you'll stop hurting me like this." I can see that he waveryvery badly to hit me, to hurt me like I've hurt him. He wants me to understand his pain - I want him to understand mine.

"You are hurt because of what I am doing, but have you thought of how what I have not yet done hurts me? How I have gone from a respected warrior to just another worthless plaything of some human? I cannot even bear to look myself in the eye anymore, can you say the same? That everyday life itself is a constant reminder of your degredation? Do you feel violated everytime you walk onto the bridge? Does everytime your captain look at you make you feel such shame that you would rathie tie than live through one more minute? You live through this and then you tell me whether or not I have the right to wish for a quick death"

He thinks he has felt hurt, perhaps he has, but not like mine. How many times has he wished himself dead? I am what is left of a broken man, barely living in fir first place. What great lose would it really be if I died? At the same time I feel as though I have done something wrong by confessing all this. I don't wao cao cause him more pain. I don't want him to be sitting on this cot one day for the same reason as I do now. A great fight seems to erupt in my mind between the part of me that wants to live for Harper and the part of me that wants to die for myself. It threatens to continue on into eternity, but is cut short by the stinging of my cheek.

My memory replays the last five minutes that I missed, searching absently for why the left side of my face is becoming red and swollen. I vaguely recall him slapping mrossross the face with the back of his hand, but surely he did not hit me hard enough to cause the burn I feel now. Another memory flashed through my mind, of another man, another slap. That was a marking of ownership. This was Harper returning in part what I had given him. I had no idea a human could slap so hard.

I look up at him and the moment I do he attacks, as if my mere gaze is enough to set off his explosive anger once again. I find myself dodging poorly aimed but powerful punches as I fall back onto the cot, then I just stop trying to avoid the hits, but by that time they have lost all their forc the the sobs shaking his body.

He's halfway on top of me, still pummling me through his haze of tears, but after a while he seems to lose motivation and all thats left is the tears. I pull him closer to me, into my arms, out of an instict I never knew I had. Maybe it's just one last act of desperation. That's how I feel right now - desperate for him to stay, yet at the same time I know I have to let go. This... complication that has arisen between us is just that: a complication. Not that I don't ponder the thought of it being something more one day, but now is not the time for such... indulgances. We're in the middle of more than one war, and I know for certain that whatever could be between us will be the first casulity if we let this madness continI loI loosen my grip around him and sit up slowly, hoping that he lets go and I don't have to push him away. Fortunately it seems that he was thinking the same thing that I was and he stands in front of me and simply looks at me a f a few moments. The tears have ceased, but the pain in his eyes hasn't left. I know he's about to speak, but I'm almost afraid to know what he's going to say.

"I'm not going to be another Dylan for you."

Of all the absurd things to say... He really must not understand any of this at all. Then again I haven't told him much to understand. I still can't help but laugh.

"That is the last thing I would wish you to be."

I think before of how he slapped me, how much it reminded me of how Dylan would slap me, and how frightening that thought was. I know that Harper's motivation for hitting me and Captain Hunt's were entirely different, but still it conjures up images and ideas that I would prefer not to think about.

He said something, but I was too disturbed by my own thoughts to hear what it was. I look back up at him, hoping he'll be kind enough to repeat it.

"I asked if you were still planning on telling me what happen," he restates simply, but I can see many other unasked questions in his eyes.

"Of coarse. Where would you like me to start?"

"Well, you know, they always say the begining is a good place..."

"Very well. The begining." I pause, trying to remember exactly when it all began. The whole thing seems like it has been going on forever, and yet I know that I have been on this ship only a short time, so the begining of the story must not be too fark.
k.

"I'm not quite sure when all of it really began, I suppose in some way it began the moment I stepped on board this... ship." A few insulting words spring to my lips concerning the vessal and its holographic counterpart, but I bite them back.

"All of what exactly? You mean... uhmm... you and Dylan?"

"You could say that. When a Niezschean finds a new home, naturally he assesses his surroundings as to who and what could benefit him in some way. There wasn't a great deal of variety to choose from, and he did seem the most experianced in such matters."

"I know I'm probably gonna regret asking, but what matters would those be?"

"Nietzscheans. He's bedded those of my kind before, as I'm sure you know."

"You couldn't possibly be referrio Rho Rhade..."

"Of coarse. He never said anything, but then again he never had to. I knew even before I had found out about his first officer."

"How?"

"Just his behavior. He acted Nietzschean, on occasion, and he knew how to get a Nietzschean's attention. Those things you just don't learn. They have to be taught."

A wide grin graces his face, but still doesn't reach his troubled eyes.

"Yeah... Not typical highguard training I'm guessing."

I quickly return his long missing smile before continuing.

"Not exactly. I could tell the moment I met him that he was interested in some... companionship, but didn't have time for all the emotional aspects of a relationship that humans usually need. It fit my agenda, and so that's how things started out. A simple, mutual fulfilment of pleasure, more out of convience than anything else. I didn't feel anything for him, he apparently could care less about me. It would have worked out fine, if he wasn't completly mentally unstable and manipulative. Of coarse, I didn't realize that at first.

"Very slowly over time things changed between us. Unfortunately it was so gradual that I fialed to notice what was happening until I completly lost control of the situation. The balance of things became to change, and when I finally figured it out I was powerless to do more than watch from the sidelines as every ounce of my dignity dissappeared."

I very suddenly don't want to do this any more. I know the reaction I'll be given for all the trouble of telling him this - total disgust. He is the last person I would want to feel that way towards me. I'm not sure why exactly, but I'm not ever going to let myself find out.

"So you mean that you started to feel something or, uhmm, something?"

"Me feel something for Captain Hunt? Hardly."

He looks frustraited with my sudden silence. I'm almost tempted to continue the story, simply because of the reminder of the stinging of the left side of my face. Still, I'm considering not telling the rest of it. Perhaps it is something better left unsaid.

"Come on, Tyr, don't shut up now. You said you'd tell me."

"Maybe I've changed my mind."

"How fucking typical. I should just leave you, you know that? I should walk out that door and never come back. Problem is, by tommorrow most likely you'd be dead."

"Most likely."

"So I have to stay here and deal with your shit or your going to try to kill yourself again, is that what you're saying?"

"No. I'm saying that perhaps you don't need to hear the rest of the story."

"Oh really. And why exactly wouldn't I need to hear the rest of the story?"

"Maybe I don't enjoy the idea of losing your good opinion."

It's true I suppose. I tell him, and he'll be gone before I even finish the sentence.

"What makes you think you have my good opinion?"

"Point taken."

Well. I suppose I could tell him then. Nothing is quite as I hoped it would be - I'm not going to find any salvation from this boy after all. Was the entire converstation completely meaningless? Was what I thought he felt all the work of a desperate man's imagination?

"You do. Well sorta. In a way."

What exactly is he getting at now? Has he changed his mind so quickly?

"Have my good opinion, I mean. Well.... yeah," he continues.

"I thought you just said -"

"Hey! I didn't say you didn't have my 'good opinion', I just sorta implied it..."

"You seem to be making a habit of impling things that you don't mean."

"No I don't. If you're talking about me implying that I gave a damn about you and your little quest for death, well..."

"Yes?"

"I didn't not mean that."

"Is that your way of telling me you care?"

He shifts from one foot to another a few times before answering.

"Well, yeah. I guess."

"Thank you."

My reply seems to take him by surprise.

"Oh, what, now you actually give a fuck whether I care or not?"

"Yes. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

He becomes uneasy again, and I start to feel that way too.

"About that...You still haven't promised me that you wouldn't try that again."

"Would you like me to make a promise that I cannot keep?"

I still do not understand how he could expect this from me. My life and death is my own, not his to dictate. I won't be ordered around and stepped upon botheother human again. Ever.

He's getting angry again, and I'm quickly growing weary. Why can't things be simplier? Why do we have to go through this cycle over and over again in one conversation? He says something, I give him the wrong reply, he gets angry, I get regretful, then he gets emotional. Why can't we just resolve whatever this is that needs to be resolved? Then again, its not him preventing things from being resolved. It's me. I can't let go of that one last glimmer of dignity that remains, but really, why should I? It is mine to keep, not his to take away, or Dylan's. I gave in to a human before, I won't do it again.

"You don't have the right."

Ynow now he's very angry. Standing there with his fists balled up like he's planning on hitting me again. Seeing him angry makes me feel the same way. Not at him. At myself for making him hurt like this. At Dylan for making me hurt him. At all most everyone but him. I stand up to face him, unintetionally reflecting every bit of anger I see in his face.

"Don't I? It is my life to take, not your's, not Dylan's. Cannot you show the least bit of mercy?"

"Mercy? Is that what you call it? Watching you die? Not being able to help you? I was on the bridge of the Maru, remember? I got to sit there and listen to you beg for death and I couldn't do anything. You have no idea what pain is until you have to watch someone you care about waste away! What ever happened to clawing and biting and spitting your last breath? What happened to you?"

Every ounce of anger and pain and fear and hate that I had hidden deep inside of me well up and took over. Every time I had to indure degredation because of Dylan, every time I had to wake up shamed and honorless, all of it filled me and suddenly I was giving up that one last little bit of pride that I had been holding onto.

"Pain? Do not speak to me of pain! Not until you have to endure watching yourself die, every moment of every day from the mere shame of what you have allowed yourself to become. You want to know what happened? Would you like me to spell it out for you? Very well, I will admit it. I went from being the a lover of convi to to the whore of a all mighty high guard captain. That is what he turned me into, his bitch. Making me comply with his every little wish like the good Nietzschean dog I was. I ended up on my knees before a human who didn't even have to force me to get me there. He schemed and he maniuplated and somehow he turned me into what he really wanted. Unfrotunately I didn't realize it until what was left of my honor was no longer salvagable, until he had the gaul to imply that he owned me, that I belonged to him. And you know what I realized? That it was true. That everytime he-"

A loud alarm interupted my outburst suddenly.

"Battle stations. All personel report to battle stations," calls the annoyingly calm voice of the ship's A.I.

We both hurry out of the room, not fast enough to call running, but too quickly to share any last words. I wonder who's attacking us, if theres any posibility that I might not survive the battle somehow.

Then I realize that I no longer feel like dying.

TBC

A/N: There it is, chap. 2. please review, I love it when you review, but don't flame, cuz that's just annoying. Next chapter is in another POV, once again for anyone who thought I didn't make a convincing Tyr. And, no, I don't have any idea of what Rommie *really* says when she does the red alert thing. I would have had her say red alert, but pleez, thats sooo star trek. =)