A/N: This is the kind of ending I personally love to hate. Enjoy (and review)!

ON TO

Epilogue:

It was not long after that mission that Beka began to suspect that her lover was preparing himself to deal with Tyr in a very permanent way. At first, she tried to send hints that she did not approve of his plans. After nearly a month of terrible suspense, she found she could take it no longer and voiced her opinions on the matter quite vocally. She thought she saw something ugly in those beautiful eyes when she defended Tyr, but to his credit, Gaheris did not state aloud any suspicions he might have had on that score. He repeated what she already knew and sentiments with which, frankly, she could not disagree.

That Tyr was plotting something was pretty evident. Even if he managed to cover his tracks well enough that no one could figure out exactly what it was, Beka never doubted that he was scheming something that would not benefit the rest of the Andromeda. She saw the way he clashed more and more often with Andromeda's captain and started to worry about her own safety and that of her crew.

The week before his death, Beka had felt a thunderstorm brewing in Andromeda's corridors, palpable as the rise in ozone and visible as the dark clouds that would signal such a storm planetside. She stayed in her quarters as much as she could, afraid to wander the corridors and see something she did not want to see and would not be able to forget. The others knew what was happening as well as she did, but they were little comfort. Tyr never looked at Harper or Trance the way he still looked at her sometimes, sometimes inviting and sometimes warning and sometimes like he knew a secret.

The worst of it was not the tension in the air or the sense of failure that pervaded their missions. The worst was that she never warned Tyr about the captain's intentions. She told herself over and over that he did not need the warning, that he knew what was coming. In a way, it was the worst-kept secret on the Andromeda. The only question was when the confrontation would take place, what little dispute might set it off.

Still, when she heard from a solemn Gaheris that Tyr was dead, her first instinct was to blame herself. She should have done something or said something, should have tried to make peace between them one more time. A tiny voice whispered that she should have left with Tyr when he offered, that in doing so she might have spared both men. She loved Gaheris and knew that he loved her as no one had loved her before and probably never would again, but sometime during those torturous hours of internal struggle, she had been forced to admit that she had loved Tyr as well.

That was why she had to go. Gaheris probably thought it was because she could not stay with someone who had so callously killed his crewmate, the second time he had done so, or that she could not tolerate the ever-darkening future ahead of them. What spurred her to leave was neither of those, though he would never know, and ultimately, the reason made no difference.

She left because every corridor presented a different memory of Tyr, and every memory of those eyes pierced through the justifications she had thrown up in her defense. In her dreams, he accused her of that most heinous of crimes, murder of one she loved. He accused her of cowardice too, and betrayal, but the worst crime of the lot was murder of he whom she had loved even as she had loved another. Sometimes his ghost joined that of her father, and they gazed at her, reproachful and angry and silent.

Always silent.