It's constant. They watch him carefully, and sure, it's with concern, but he's not some fragile flower. Trance hovers over him, her face worried-cheerful. Dylan mostly avoids him, leaving orders to be relayed by Rommie. That's guilt for you. At least they haven't kicked his ass for his role in reinstating Rommie's old personality.

 Rev just looks at him with bone-deep guilt, like it's all his fault. As though he should have been able to stop his brothers. Species. Brethren. What-fucking-ever. And suddenly, he's angry. Really fucking angry, and he wants to go out and find a fight. Instead, he throws a conveniently located micro-spanner against the wall of the access tube. It's heavy and metal bends beneath it, sparks flying from loose wires.

 Great. At least he can't make the ship much worse than it is. He's thankful for the condition of the Andromeda, the repair work keeping him busy and mostly out of the way of the others. There are lots of places to get lost on a ship this size, and he's never been more grateful.

 Day four, and it's been just like the others since he was 'rescued'. Sleep. Nightmares about being gunked to Magog cavern walls and memories of his cousins. Wake up, hoping it's all a dream, and it isn't. Take the leukopreme drug dutifully, and force down some food. After all, he has to stay 'otherwise in good health'. Make a plan for the day's repairs, and off you go Harper, get to work like a good little engineer who doesn't have a painfully hideous death sentence hanging over his head. Good, good Harper. Remember, where there's life, there's hope. Yeah, whatever.

 But it's good, the state of the ship. He works himself until he drops. He tried to deal with regular mealtime gatherings, but it's too much, the weight of their eyes on him. Beka looks at him like her heart is breaking, and he hates it, she doesn't need that. Sometimes her face goes truly cold, something he's only seen a few times, and he almost feels sorry for the Magog that will -- soon, soon Harper -- claw their way out of him. Almost. They have no idea what's waiting for them. He hopes he'll be alert enough to see at least some of what she does.

He should have let Tyr use that last round on him.

 Tyr, who looks at him the same as always, except for flashes of bleak hopelessness. He should have known, as soon as he saw that look in the med bay, how truly fucked he was. Goddamn enhanced Nietzschean. Goddamn immune-compromised pathetic human.

 He's ignoring the body crawling towards him. He's thinking about the proto-Magog crawling inside him. He ignores it as warmth settles near him. Why is he always cold now? Some side-effect of the drug? Trance would know, but he's not sure he can stand more guilt from her. He should be warm, leaning against Andromeda's perfectly enviro-adjusted bulk.

 It's possible that if he ignores his visitor, he will go away. It's possible that if he ignores the cold, it will fade. Sadly, he can't ignore the Magog spawn in his belly. Bastards just won't go away.

 Eventually, it's clear that ignoring won't work, so perhaps small talk will. "So, you were a slave, huh?" He refuses to make eye contact. "Hand me that welder." Metal is pressed into his hand, and he turns towards the neglected circuit board on his lap. Tyr always did listen to him when work had to be done on the ship.

 "So I guess we have something in common. I mean, other than having been the lucky recipients of Magog spawn. Never figured you for the slave-boy type."

 Small sparks fly as he bends the welder to connections. Tyr's voice is slightly dismissive, but mostly smooth. "What did you expect? My family was dead. I was 16. We were vanquished. I was part of the spoils of betrayal." There isn't any self-pity in Tyr's tone. "Perhaps you thought the mighty Nietzschean would have all the resources he needed to make his way in the galaxy? How very romantic a notion."

 That surprises him. "Romantic? I don't remember bringing up hearts and flowers here."

 Tyr snorts, and the familiar derision is soothing somehow. "Romantic as in idealistic. Perfect. Everything has its place with the tools to achieve this goal. I thought a life such as yours would have disabused you of such an idea."

 Hmmph.

 Once he puts his mind to it, repairs are easy. He holds up the board, squinting at it critically, and then it pushes into its place in the wall. Nice. He closes up the wall, and moves down to inspect the next section. Tyr stays where he is, which isn't all that far away. He looks briefly over his shoulder, noting that Tyr's too large to really be comfortable here. "Do you need something?" He's not really in the mood to deal with enigmatic guy right now.

 Metal scrapes against metal, and he guesses Tyr is shifting. "I wondered if perhaps you were engaging in self-pity."

 No, he'd been thinking about how great his life was right now. "So what if I am?"

 "It's not helpful."

 "Ah yes, I forgot -- life, hope, blah blah blah, let's all get on with it and take advantage where we can." He can't keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but on some level, it's good to take this out on someone. He can't exactly let go with the rest of them, they get these *looks* on their faces that make everything worse. At least Tyr still threatens to hit him. He'll know things are utterly hopeless if Tyr one day becomes solicitous guy. "Great, thanks Tyr. I'll remember to brush aside the fact that as we speak, I'm the warm and cozy nursery for monsters. Gee, maybe I should be proud, you think? That the little bastards have developed enough to wrap themselves around my insides, bettering their chance of survival. You must be able to identify with that kind of mentality. And hey! Lucky you, your superior self doesn't have to deal with it. Looks like all those cracks about inferior humans were right after all."

 He wills Tyr to go away, but it doesn't work. It never works with the guy. So he pulls off the cover of the next section, sees it's fine, and moves on. Repeat, move on. The presence behind him is oppressive. Shit. He stops and turns around.

 "Look, what do you want me to say? That I don't wake up screaming every night? That I'm not terrified, and I can't really talk about it because they all are so guilty and worried that they tiptoe around me? I'm working on the ship, and I'm getting things done. But sometimes it just takes over, and I wish sometimes you'd killed me and that I hadn't been too scared to let you go through with it. And if that's too defeatist for you, fine."

 The quiet lasts long enough for him to start regretting his outburst. Then,

 "Were you more afraid of the Magog or death?"

 He snorts. "Tyr, the Magog *are* death."

 "And yet you faced them. You had the option to retreat, but you chose to face your fears."

 Yeah, and a fat lot of good it did him. Them.

 "Regret is without value. You would be dead now had you taken the easy path. You're not dead yet."

 No, instead he gets to wait and imagine what it will be like. "You know what the worse thing is? Worse than thinking up scenarios about them hatching?" Because he does think of scenarios. Will he know before it happens, or will it be sudden? Will he ask Trance to drug him to his teeth, so he doesn't feel anything? Should he stay here, or steal the Maru and get it over with alone? How many will there be, and how long will it take? But that's not the worst of it. "It's that they're all so worried. Like it's all their fault, not mine for getting us into the situation in the first place. They don't tease me, or show exasperation. They're all so nice and worried, and you can see it in their eyes -- 'better be good to Harper, it might be the last chance you get'. Beka clamps down on her annoyance, and Dylan's already acting like I'm gone."

 And now he's whining about his friends caring. He's sinking lower and lower into the funk.

 "When I was a slave, no one spoke to me. Some of the others were humans, and had been sold to the mine by Nietzscheans. They had nothing to say to me. Other Nietzscheans were too full of shame to care. When the tunnel collapsed, there was no one to notice I was gone."

 He wonders if he's the only one who knows these things about Tyr. He nods jerkily, keeping his eyes on the wiring in front of him. It's difficult to know what Tyr's point is, but it would be rude to seem totally disinterested. It's not like the guy talks about his past much. It's another thing they share, being mostly close-mouthed about their pasts.

 "These tunnels remind me of the mine. I was smaller then."

 It's hard to imagine. "At least Andromeda is cleaner."

 Tyr looks at him flatly, then pointedly stares at the hanging cables, sparking wires and scattered tools and debris. "That's debatable."

 The expression on his face is classic Tyr, and Harper can't help grinning. "I don't see you doing much to help clean it up. I'm sure even you can tell the difference between scrap and salvageable parts. Think of it as a match-up game. Or 'which of these things does not belong?'. You know, good parts, bad parts, Harper's tools and a Nietzschean. Which seems out of place?"

 "You're rambling."

 It's true. "Thanks for listening. You can go now. I'm done with the self-pity until the next time it catches up with me." He glances up at Tyr again. "You don't really look comfortable."

 Tyr shrugs, awkward in the small space. "Comfort is a transient concept. At least I'm not buried under rubble or attached to a wall with hardened Magog slime." Slowly, he begins to back out of the tunnel. "Do not wear yourself out."

 Harper twitches his shoulders in reply. "Sure." The bitter part of him wants to believe that Tyr's just trying to optimise the usefulness of the ship's engineer. After all, not enough sleep might cut down on the effectiveness of the drug, which might cut the number of days he has left. And there are a lot of repairs to make before the things hatch.

 The look on Tyr's face in the med bay though. It makes him wonder. It's something else to think about.

 A few minutes later, he realises how much colder it is now he's alone.

 End