DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations of the TV program "SPACE: Above and Beyond" are the creations of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Fox Broadcasting and Hard Eight Productions, and have been used without permission, but gratefully and with high esteem. No copyright infringement is intented.
This story is not to be published on any ftp site, newsgroup, mailing list, fanzine or elsewhere without the express permission of the author.
The character of Lt. Col. Rachel Hamilton belongs to me.
I want to thank Marilyn and Susi for reading and correcting! :-)
Rated R for sexual content (m/f)
© Daphne, December, 1996
Comments are welcome to Daphne
Lt. Colonel Tyrus Cassius McQueen strode along the corridors of the Saratoga. He was on his way to Commodore Ross' quarters. Ross wanted to talk to him, and McQueen didn't have a good feeling then. He was so glad to be back on the Saratoga, to be back in command of the 58th, he was happy to have found them all at good health. He had worked hard to be fit again for the duty at the front, really hard. After losing his leg at the peace talks with the Chigs he had almost despaired. And when he then had had to see that three of his kids had been missing, it had almost been more than he could bear. But this was behind him now - at least he hoped.
"Who's at my hatch?" he heard Ross' voice when he knocked on his door.
"Colonel McQueen, Sir!"
"Come in!" Ty stepped in and closed the door behind him. Ross sat with his guitar in his hand on a chair, eyed him, sighed then and said: "Ty, take a seat and read this." He handed him a letter from the supreme command. Ty glanced over it, first only with a frown, then with growing anger.
"What the hell is this?!" he grew furious. "An adviser? What am I supposed to do with an adviser?" Ross knew how McQueen had to feel, but he said: "Cool down, Ty. We can't change it. After the disaster six month ago at the negotionations with the Chig ambassador it seems to be normal to use military advisers. Col. Hamilton will arrive the day after tomorrow. She..." McQueen's face became paler.
"Yes. Neither is she subordinate nor placed above you, she is not supposed to monitor you, the only thing she has to do is give you advise. I expect that you get on this!"
"Yes, Sir!" McQueen rose, but the anger in his face was obvious.
Two days later the 58th squadron was ordered to the briefing-room. The five Wildcards have been surprised about the grumpy behaviour of their CO the last two days, and now they faced a McQueen who nearly trembled with restrained anger, and a Commodore who looked like he sweared to all gods he ever heard of that McQueen might not explode. There was another person with them in the room: a young woman in the uniform of a Lt. Colonel of the US Marine Corps. She was about 5,5 ft tall, had brown hair, put together to a plait in her neck, blue-green intelligent eyes and an amused expression on her face.
"5-8. I want to introduce you to Lt. Col. Hamilton. She will assist by Col. McQueen as adviser from now on."
A murmur went through the room, surprised glances were exchanged.
"I expect you to give her your full support!" Col. Hamilton smiled and nodded for greeting.
"I'm glad to be on board of the Saratoga and to work with the Wildcards." Then she left the room together with Commodore Ross.
"Sir, what...?" West spoke up, but McQueen had already burst out of the room.
"That can't be true! They can't assign McQueen a woman who definitely never was in a battle before!" Vansen was upset. Wang only shook his head.
Hawkes said: "She looks nice!"
"Gee, Coop! Don't you get it? They want to get rid of McQueen!" Shane shouted at him.
Thereupon it became very quiet in the room.
"Col. McQueen - may I have a word?" He heard a soft voice behind him. He knew who was talking there, and he would be damned if he listened. "Colonel McQueen! Please!" He stopped, turned around and gave her a look that could have cooled down red-hot steel in a split second. "I know why you're so angry. But please believe me, you are wrong!" Hamilton looked at him. "I asked for my transfer to the 58th because I wanted to learn from you! I heard that you know very much about military history and that you are accustomed to take the right decisions. I don't want to be your advisor but your student!" McQueen's look became a little bit warmer, but was still as cool as a fish on the roof of an Eskimo's igloo. "And how do you think you could do this, Colonel Hamilton?" "By listening to you. And I beg you to share your experiences with me."
The weeks passed by and McQueen slowly got used to impart his knowledge to somebody. Meanwhile he had accumulated such a lot of it, had read so much, from eastern war philosophy to world war's history, had seen so much during the Chigwars, that he really could start to share it. And actually he could have been glad that they haven't send him a real advisor, who wanted to tell him what he had to do. But when the anger slowly faded it gave way to another feeling which he couldn't classify yet.
Hamilton was an attentive listener and the proposals she sometimes made - only when they talked in private, never in front of others - were well elaborated and testified to an alert mind and a lot of tactical skill. Not at all she gave him the feeling of not being respected, she treated him with high regard. They had talked about InVitros once and Hamilton made her point very clear that InVitros were humans like all others, that she didn't care if a human was born as a baby or at the age of 18. Nevertheless McQueen still behaved in a reserved way towards her, but this wasn't as much insulting as Captain Shane Vansen's behavior. Vansen was polite. But in her eyes clearly stood contempt.
One day the 58th was assigned to a mission on Clangor. They only should fit out a radio station. No contact with the enemy was expected, and so Ross ordered Col. Hamilton to accompany the Wildcards.
The mission went off uneventfully and without any problems, McQueen waited in the transporter's open door and watched the Wildcards approaching. Vansen and Hamilton were the rearguard and McQueen could feel the strained atmosphere between them. "I must talk to Vansen sometime," he thought when they suddenly came under fire. Damphousse, Hawkes, West and Wang took cover and opened the fire. Right behind Vansen a Chig appeared out of nothing - Vansen didn't have the breath of a chance to take her weapon in time and to shoot. Even the others' positions were too unfortunate that they could have covered Vansen - she stood in the line of fire. Suddenly Hamilton flew though the air, smashed her fist to that point where the Chig's chin should have been and then they rolled over the dirt in a knot. McQueen held his breath until he heard Hamilton cut the hose of the Chig's breathing-equipment. The Wildcards hurried towards the transporter which lifted off immediately. During the flight no word was spoken.
Without rapping McQueen rushed into Hamilton's quarter.
"Are you completely mad? What the hell was this streetfighter-imitation about?" he yelled at Hamilton who looked at him surprised. His eyes flashed in anger out of a face that was beneath the red of anger paler than usual, but in this eyes there was an expression of... concern? Despair? Rachel Hamilton wasn't sure, but she knew she had to react to his reproaches if she didn't want to risk their further cooperation.
"Captain Vansen was in danger" she said, trying hard to keep her voice calm, "and I was the only person nearby who was able to do something."
McQueen looked at her, his lips trembled.
"Oh God, I could have lost you!" he moaned suddenly and pulled her into his arms. Before she knew what happend she felt his soft lips on her mouth. And before she had any chance to react he tore himself away from her. On his face the emotions changed soh fast that it was confusing to look at him. "I'm sorry." he stammered, "I don't know what... It won't happen again!" He turned around hastily and left her cabin. Hamilton gazed after him, first baffled, but then a smile appeared on her face.
Not even half an hour later, Rachel Hamilton just wanted to break for dinner at the officers' mess, it knocked at her door.
"Come in!" she said. When she turned around she saw an embarrased Vansen standing in the door.
"Captain?" she asked.
"Colonel Hamilton, I, er... You have... You saved my life! And I, I behaved ridiculously. I'm sorry!" Hamilton smiled to cheer Vansen up, she felt that Vansen had something else to say. "It only was because we... I mean, I thought you... whould take Colonel McQueen's place as our CO, and I... we owe McQueen so much... And now... Please forgive me my behaviour!" Hamilton nodded. "I accept your apology. I was hurt by your rejection, but I'm no longer mad about you. I know that you and your comrades would go through hell for Colonel McQueen... And he would do the same for you. Let us forget what happend!" She stretched out her hand and Vansen took it, a little bit surprised about the friendly words and the amicable gesture of her superior officer.
When Hamilton arrived at the officers' mess her eyes travelled over the heads of the crowd, but McQueen wasn't there. Vansen had joined at her comrades table but rose as she saw Hamilton and came over to her. "Ma'am, we would be pleased if you joined us." Hamilton accepted the invitation, glad to get the opportunity to get to know the Wildcards better. The dinner was - as always - nearly inedible, after a few mouthfuls Hamilton decided to be saturated and she pushed away the dish. She felt the glances from Damphousse and West, but this time it were friendly glances, Hawkes' glance was the most friendly. "M'am, how you threw yourself onto that Chig was marvellous!" - it was out before Coop knew that he wanted to speak, and he blushed. But after all the Colonel saved Shane's life, oh God, if something had happened to Shane... Coop recalled the time with horror when Shane and Vanessa were missing and nobody had known if they were still alive... Colonel Hamilton nodded friendly, she liked this handsome young hotshot who actually still was a little child. She knew how much he cared about Captain Vansen, yes, perhaps even more than that.
She talked a little while with the 58th, but then she decided that McQueen had had enough time to recompose himself. She rose, put her dish on the dish storage and set off to his cabin.
Soon she stood in front of McQueen's door. Without hesitation she knocked firmly.
"Yes? Who's at my hatch?"
"Hamilton!" No response. She waited for a moment, then she lifted her hand to knock again when she heard him: "Come in!"
Hamilton stepped into his cabin and shut the door quietly behind her. She didn't know exactly what she had expected, but this way she never saw him before. He stood, his back half-turned towards her, his shoulders hanging, hands that didn't know where to rest...
"I already said that I'm sorry. Please forgive me my behavior, Colonel!" he said with a husky voice.
Very gently, very softly Hamilton answered: "There's only one thing I'd be sorry about, Colonel McQueen." No response.
"I'd be sorry that it wouldn't happen again!" She heard McQueen taking a deep breath. He turned around, looked at her out of widened eyes. "Excuse me?"
"Kiss me, Ty!" He stood there, thunderstruck.
"Kiss me!" she repeated. He took one step towards her. One more step and he could stretch out his hand and tentatively touch her cheek. She looked at him, fixed, her eyes smiled warmly. Her skin was so soft. And her lips... He couldn't avert his eyes from them as they now lightly parted and invited him, more than her words did. He grabbed at her shoulders and pulled her very gently towards him. The seconds warped as if someone had stopped the time. His face approached hers, he felt her breath on his skin, saw her pupils widen and then, at last, his lips met hers, and the world engaged again. It was a tender kiss, but it tasted like desire, like love, like hunger, like comfort, like lust. It tasted like a whole life.
"Oh Rachel," he whispered, his face pushed into her hair, when their lips came off from each other. He pressed her against him like he was looking for some hold. "I... I'm... Rachel, I'm scared." She pulled him closer to her body, her hands stroked softly over his back, travelled up to his shoulders, and then he heard her quietly speaking: "I know, Ty. I'll never hurt you. I love you."
He pushed her away.
"How could you love me? I'm a Tank. I only have one leg. My body is covered with scars. And I'm... I am... I can't have children!" He nearly yelled out, his unsteadiness, his despair about all disappointments he had to experience in his past, the humilitations because he was born as an InVitro, the frustrations about the betrayal of the woman he had married.
"Ty! TY!!! Damned!" Hamilton shouted the last word. "Listen to me, Ty! I don't care how you were born. I told you once, and I tell you again: for me everybody, EVERYBODY! is a human, no matter if he's white, black, yellow, if his navel is on his belly or on his neck! Do you hear me? You are a human, God, you're more human as many others I know! You are, because of your character, you are yourself! Of course you are different because of all you had to experience." She shook him, forced him to look into her eyes.
"I love you, Ty!" she repeated. "And I really don't care what other people say. I don't care that you have scars, I don't care that your leg is artificial, and I absolutely don't care if you're able to have children. When the time arrives we will find a solution for this problem!" He looked at her, surprised. Not only because he hadn't expected this forceful outburst. After all her last words sounded like a promise.
She took his face between her hands and pulled his head down to her. She kissed him, tenderly. Long. Felt the strain leaving him. The kiss continued, became firmer. His lips opened when he felt her tongue. It caressed his lips, slid between them, stroked over his teeth and found his tongue. His mouth was so warm, damp and soft. He sucked on her tongue, then responded to the kiss. They now held each other so close that nothing would have fit between them. Carefully she led him to his bed until the hollows of his knees bumped against its edge. A soft pressure on his shoulders and he sat down, pulling her with him onto his lap until she kneeled above him. Their lips hadn't left each other all the time. She stroked his hair, his brow, his ears, his cheeks, his chin, and McQueen had the feeling that he never before had felt such a soft touch. Her fingertips told him almost more then her words that she loved him. "And, damned, I love her too," he thought, admitting it to himself at last. That unbelievable fear he felt on Clangor, it was the fear for her life. Not for his life he feared, not even for the Wildcards' lives, only for hers. When the Chig attacked Vansen and Hamilton threw herself into him, he wasn't scared for Vansen, not at all. The fear of losing Hamilton was superior.
He felt her hands reaching his throat, slowly stroking its sides, travelling to its back and caressing along his spine upwards. He shivered when she touched his sensitive navel. Her touch wasn't more than a breath, very softly her fingertips glided over the elevation on his neck.
"Not." he murmured, leaving her lips. "I... ah! I can't guarantee that..." She looked at him.
"Oh. In this case, I think, I now should better..." She rose, gave him a smile and turned to the door. He looked after her with a mix of disappointment and relief. No, there was more disappointment than relief. He rose to hold her back. But she already had reached the door - and locked it.
"We don't want to be disturbed, hm?" she said with a mischievous smile as she turned around. With two steps he was with her. She only looked at him, didn't move. He carefully untied her plait and ran his fingers through her hair that now fell down on her shoulders. He caressed her neck, she tossed her head back. His hands stroked over her shoulders, her upper arms, lifted her arms, caressed their inner side down to her armpit, over the sides of her breasts to her wrist, grabbed for the thin material of her shirt, pulled it out of the waistband of her trousers and with a fluent moving over her head. His lips came down on the soft skin of her shoulders. He smelled her light scent, like an exotic flower with a warm and earthy undertone. He took a deep breath, absorbing the scent. His hands drew tender patterns on her back, approaching her bra's clasp. His lips travelled farther until they reached the strap of her bra. Meanwhile his hands had got past the obstacle and he could pull away the strap with his lips. The bra fell down to the floor. He felt her body shivering. He lifted his head to look at her. To him she seemed to be the most beautiful woman of the world, perhaps the most beautiful woman of the universe. His hands travelled to the sides of her chest, gently grasping her breasts. With his thumbs he caressed their tips which held out to him. He kneeled while covering her skin with soft kisses from her throat down. She grabed for her dogtags, removed them and took them into her pocket. He heard her breathing harder as his hands grabbed her butt and then travelled to the clasp of her trousers, slowly unbottoning and unzipping it. She kicked away her shoes so that they didn't disturb as he now very slowly pushed her trousers down her smooth thighs. He set one leg after the other first free of the trousers, then of the socks. After that his hands drove along her legs up to her briefs, which he pulled down as slowly and carefully as the trousers before. He kissed the navel on her flat stomach, rose and carried her to the bed.
Hamilton watched Ty with desire while he undressed his flightsuit, his turtleneck and his underwear. He had a body like one of those statues, created from a Greek artist of the antiquities. But those statues always had a fig-leave, covering tininess. No, nobody could speak of tininess here. Strong muscles beneath smooth white skin, except for the scars on his chest: small, fine scars like resulting from a knife and big, bulging scars where he had suffered burns. Close under his right knee ran a thin scar around his leg, but the artificial limb could only be recognized if one looked at it very meticoulosly. And it didn't spoil him, not at all, as he now stretched out his body beside her on the small bed. Rachel wanted it to happen slowly, though she felt a passion burning inside her which she almost couldn't restrain. Her fingers went over the lines of his face, she kissed his eyelids, his nosetip, his chin, found herself in a long and longing kiss of his lips while the movements of his hands on her butt let run shivers through her body. She kissed his throat, astonished about the softness of his skin, let her right hand glide to his navel and caressed it. A sigh escaped his lips and they kissed again. Then her mouth travelled down, above the scared skin of his chest to his nipples, which she teased lightly with the tip of her tongue until they hardened. She took a little while in his right armpit, became intoxicated with his scent that was such warm and masculine. She kissed the thin scars on his stomach, kissed the skin on his flat, muscular belly down to his groin. Then she looked up, saw the desire in his face, to which she didn't want to give in - not yet. She slipped down to the bed's edge and took his left foot between her hands, massaged the sole and the ankle, let her fingers glide between the toes, back and forth, until Ty began to shiver. Softly she stroked over his lower legs, the natural left and the artificial at his right leg. Reaching the knees she continued her reconaissance at the inside of his legs. Also the legs were muscular, the skin smooth and especially at the inside of his thighs unbelievably soft. Reaching the dark hair of his genitals she stopped, bent down to his face and kissed him, deeply and full of desire. Her fingertips caressed his groin and he had the feeling that he couldn't stand it any more until she finally touched him there, where he felt the heat building up, a heat that was almost painful.
Still during the kiss he felt her hand tenderly caressing his testicles, then gliding up to his penis and slowly stroking there up and down. He couldn't prevent that his body reared up. Heaven, how long ago was it that he was touched that way by a woman? Actually never before a woman had touched him this way, so tenderly, devotedly, only being intent on his joy, withouth thinking of herself. He wanted her so much that it almost hurt, wanted to smell her, feel her, taste her, wanted to feel her breath at his ear, wanted to feel her shivering underneath his body, wanted to be in her, to give her lust, give her everything. But she didn't let him, not yet. She wanted him, but she wanted to give him total delight, before she thought of herself.
She left his mouth, he looked at her. She lifted her right forefinger, led it to her mouth and sucked it. To him it seemed to be a promise what she wanted to do, but he wasn't prepared for what followed. She bowed her head down to his hardness, kissed the tip of his penis, drove around it with the tip of her tongue and then took it into her mouth. At the same time he felt her forefinger slipping into his anus. He coughed, the sensation was simply unbelievable. In the same torturing, wonderful rythm like her mouth her forefinger moved in and out. The only thing Ty could hear was the blood, roaring in his ears, waves of hot delight flooded through his body, coming from his loins, until he thought he couldn't bear it anymore. He wanted her to stop, wanted her to go on, wanted... He couldn't think anymore. Rachel recognized a light jerking, she knew it wouldn't last any longer and increased her efforts. His body trembled, his breath came jerkily, he lost what he always wanted most: selfcontrol. His body arched as he begun to pour into her mouth. Rachel swallowed the hot, salty liquid, slowed down the up and down of her mouth, her finger came to a stop. When he thought all liquid of his body would be gone forever she let her finger slowly slip out of him, caressed his penis once more with her tongue, then tenderly kissed its tip and laid her head on his stomach, almost as exhausted as he was.
He softly stroked her hair, her neck, every place he could reach until he came to breath.
"I'd like some music," she said and rose. He watched her rummaging in his old CDs and finding one. Soon the strains of Tchaikovkijs "Pathétique" filled the room. With lithe movements she came back to the bed and stretched out beside him. "Actually that's too sad a piece of music for this occasion, but I love Tchaikovskij," she sighed. He rested on his elbow and looked at her: her high cheekbones, the bluegreen eyes with the long, swung lashes, the straight nose, the beautifully pursed lips, which now bent up with a smile. "It was miraculous," he said with his deep voice which now was perhaps a little huskier than ever.
"Pssst!" she placed the forefinger of her left hand on his lips. He kissed it, opened his lips, sucked on it, kissed it again. Then he took her hand, kissed her palm, the soft skin above her pulse, enjoyed her scent. His lips flattered up her arm, then down her chest. He took a while at her breasts, licking here, caressing there, then stayed at her navel, Rachel felt his wet tongue-tip tickling her. She noticed his warm breath at her belly, deeper now, becoming faster as he reaches the rippled hair. His tongue painted circles on her groin, then she felt him sofly blowing over the wet trails and she trembled. What he did with his tongue drove her nuts, she moaned, arched her back as he went deeper, but she wanted him now, totally. And instinctively she knew that he also had reached the point.
"Come to me," she breathed, pulled him up, embraced his pelvis with her legs. Softly, so softly he penetrated her as if he had been afraid of hurting her. His movements were gently, carefully, but infinitely agreeable. He increased his speed only a tiny bit, but it was just right. His hands moved under her butt, lifted her to be able to come deeper into her, to fill her totally. She caressed his navel with one hand, his butt with the other. His movements were uniformity, but both their breathing became faster. She felt her throat drying, his grip was so tight that she nearly couldn't move, so she devoted herself completely to the delight.
"Oh Ty, yes..." only a breath of her voice at his ear, but he was longing for this breath for such a long time without confessing it. Suddenly he felt her tightening, felt her musculars massaging him, relaxing, tightening again... The expression on her face was beautiful, he couldn't get saturated to look at her, the deep satisfaction that was reflected there when he trembled soon after her, exuding himself into her, breathlessly, happy.
And while he was holding her in his arms he knew that he never - never - would release her again.
The End? ;-)