By: Thought

Disclaimer: Hey, what ever happened to that plan to go back to the set and kidnap everybody-D

A/N: OUCH. My head, my back, my side and my stomach hurt like hell. And I can't stand up without getting dizzy. Yawns

Summary: Beka and Dylan, um, banter.


I don't intentionally pick fights with Dylan. Hell, I don't even like fighting with Dylan. But it's one of those cases where opposites, for some strange reason, don't attract. This fight was going rather well. I hadn't even raised my voice yet, and he'd only quoted three Commonwealth protocols.

"I think you need to understand, Beka, that things work differently aboard a High Guard ship. You can't just go running off any time you like."

This argument was starting to sound really familiar. Oh yeah. If I remember correctly, it took place right before our magnificent captain became infatuated with an insane warship and her psycho android crew. Aside from Dylan, Tyr was so the only one who had fun that week.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asked.

I blinked. "You were talking?" Crap, crap, crap.

"Maybe I should put you and your crew through some Commonwealth training drills," he said thoughtfully.

"I'm going to kill you."

He just shrugged. "No, you're not."

Harper was somewhere behind me doing…something. That made me feel a little better. It gave me a witness when I explained to the rest of the crew that I really hadn't had a choice when I splattered our captain's brains across the wall of the hangar bay, because he was provoking me. And he was provoking me. It's not my fault that I can't keep my ship in one piece when Tyr takes it out for a joy ride right into the middle of 'Evil Nietzscheans Who Want To Kill Him For No Apparent Reason' territory. Dylan knows this, yet he's still making fun of the battered condition of my poor little ship. And he was telling me that I couldn't take it out to a drift which, may I add, was, like, five minutes away, to get it fixed.

"Seriously, Dylan, don't test me right now," I told him. I was giving him an easy out. If he didn't decide to take advantage of it, well, he was more stupid than I originally thought. Which is a feat in and of itself. He didn't take it.

"Do you need a vacation, Beka?"

I stared at him. It wasn't so much the feeling one gets when something so amazingly unexpected and astonishing pops up at your door step that you're just forced to say

'Oh my God my dream has come true'. No, it was more one of those 'Hi, Hell, how's that ice sculpture coming?' moments when all you want to do is find the nearest hard surface to strike your most likely already damaged head against with excessive force. And it was all Dylan's fault. It's just more convenient that way.