An Easy Trajectory

The halls are dimly lit, an energy-saving tactic. Andromeda needs all her excess resources for repairs right now. It doesn't bother him - he's used to poor lighting, and knows well the advantages of shadows.

He refuses to crave bright lights. He won't be ruled by the remembered terror of being stuck to a rough wall in a dark cave. He can block out the memories of growls, wet things being torn, the sounds of animals feasting.

He wonders if Tyr was awake when they were implanted. He's more grateful than he can express that he was unconscious.

The smell. It was everywhere. It is everywhere.

Pressing a hand to his stomach, he imagines he can feel the spawn squirming. He grits his teeth and keeps moving. Get a grip, Harper.

* * *

He slinks into his quarters, not certain why he's cautious. Something in the room is off, but it takes a moment for him to locate it.

Oh yeah - it's clean.

The Magog had broken in and trashed everything in their search for prey. He hadn't had the time to clean it, between repairs to the ship and time in med bay. He'd made his way automatically back to his room, not remembering the state it was in.

Someone's cleaned it. "Rommie? Did you send droids to clean my room?"

Her tone is clipped. "No, Harper. They are all busy with essential repairs."

"Oh. Ok."

If Trance had cleaned up she probably would have slipped some plants into the room. He scans for greenery, and finds nothing. He moves forward, and notices something on the bed. A knife. A big, huge mother of a knife.

Tyr.

He reaches out, picks up the weapon, weighs it in his hand. It's nicely balanced, and fits his palm to near perfection. Moving to sit on the bed, he unsheathes the blade. It's shiny, very new looking. Sharp.

He could plunge it right into the fuckers in his guts, twist hard, and kill them before they even knew it. Knife. Belly. Hand. It's an easy trajectory. He looks it over again.

"It is not for use on yourself."

Shit! He twists to the left, instinctively brandishing the weapon. Tyr moves smoothly from the shadows. It's the second time Tyr's secretly watched him in the dark. It's an annoying realisation, one which makes him petulant. "I wouldn't be aiming for myself, Tyr."

Semantics.

Tyr looks at him with faint disgust and exasperation. "I will not have this discussion with you. The knife is a gift. Your thoughts do it dishonour."

He turns away, flops on his back on the bed. Tyr moves forward, and then Harper feels the bed dip slightly. Tyr radiates body heat, and Harper is suddenly struck with the familiar sensation of it near his skin. He hasn't felt such warmth since he called off their...whatever it had been.

Tyr smells familiar, leather and warmth; fresh sweat and clean hair. He feels a pang of --something.

"Were you awake when they --" He can't say it, and Tyr doesn't make him.

"No."

"Did you see them...with me?"

There's a slight pause, and he knows the answer. "You were making noises. I didn't think you were awake."

"I wasn't."

They're quiet for a while. Then, "You cleaned my room."

"Yes."

"Thanks. I'd forgotten. I would have just slept in an access tunnel once I'd remembered."

Tyr sighs above him. "You should be taking care of yourself."

Yeah, so he can be the best meal he can be.

"You earned it."

What? He earned these fuckers? He sits up, waving the knife around again. "What the hell does that mean?" Typical. Goddamn Niets, superior bastards.

Tyr indicates the knife. "You earned that. You fought well, faced your fears. You deserve a good weapon." Tyr's oblivious to the misunderstanding. "I don't want to have to lend you one of mine again." It's said with a twist of his lips, an almost-smile.

He's still for a moment, then grins ruefully. "Thanks. It's nice. I'll think of you while I'm killing." He wonders if that's some kind of Nietzschean equivalent of a compliment.

"As long as it's not yourself who is your target."

Pfft. As if he'll ever be able to really do that. "Tell you what - if I want killing, I'll come to you first." It's not really an idle offer. He'd ask Tyr first, when - if - the time comes to take them out before they eat their ways out. Tyr wouldn't say no. Dylan might try to talk him out of it, but he'd eventually agree. It just might be too late. Asking Beka would be too cruel, and he can just picture Trance's face crumpling at the thought. Rev - well, no. Just no.

It's sad to realise how much thought he's given this. "Promise me you'll do it if you have to."

Tyr snorts. "I don't have to promise you, boy. I won't have them hatch."

Ah, that cold, practical, survivalist attitude. It's unusually soothing. Still, his voice is tinged with bitterness. "I knew I could count on you."

"Yes."

"Get the job done."

"Yes."

"Take out the threats to your survival."

"Yes."

"Revel in your genetic superiority that spares you from being a spawning ground." The bitterness is getting worse. It's so easy to take it out on Tyr.

"Prevent a shipmate from suffering a painful and hideous death."

Huh. Maybe not so easy. "Yeah. Thanks." His voice is conciliatory and sincere. Tyr would know how to do it painlessly. "You'll think of me while you're killing me?"

"Harper. Where there's life, there's hope. You and I have lived through enough to know this. Do not lose yourself yet."

That's probably as much of a pep talk as he's going to get from Tyr. It's oddly comforting, and far more realistic than the vague protestations that 'everything will work out, Seamus' that some of the others are giving him. Not that they're condescending, and they do care. It's just - their optimism seems kind of off, a little fake. And if it's not that, it's the almost-coldness of Rommie, like she already considers him gone. Tyr offers him what he can, the basic reminder that the universe is unpredictable, and there's hope until the last.

It's the hope of a believer. Someone who's seen it in action.

They're quiet for some time more, and Harper's mind wanders, mostly drifts as he dozes. Tyr is at the head of the bed, leaning against the wall, breathing deeply and regularly. He remembers that once he wondered if he'd ever arrive in his room one night to find Tyr waiting for him, wanting...something.

He never expected to arrive to a Tyr-cleaned room. Bizarrely, he gets an image of Tyr dusting, a short apron around his waist. He snorts.

"What?"

"I'm imagining you dusting."

"I don't dust."

"That's why it's funny to imagine it. Well, that and the apron. It's a good look for you."

Tyr's tone is dry. "I see you're feeling better."

"I guess. Harper's sick sense of humour doesn't stay down for too long."

The bed is shifting again, and then Tyr is standing above him. "Get some rest."

Damn. Darkness, memories of wet tearing sounds, growls. Remembering being on the bottom of a pile of hungry Magog. Oh god. He doesn't want to be alone. Tyr's almost out the door. Shit. "Tyr." He's going to regret this later. Tyr will make him regret it. "I need to sleep. I can't do it alone right now. Will you stay?" He's pleased his voice doesn't crack, that he keeps his gaze steady.

Tyr turns around, and the door slides shut behind him. Chainmail is pulled off and set carefully on a chair. Weapons belt is placed next to the bed. Tyr unbuckles his boots, removes his pants. "Get in the bed."

He didn't quite expect the lack of clothing. He contemplates leaving his clothes on, but figures if Tyr wants to go naked, who is he to argue? It's not like they've never seen each other before. He sets the knife aside, strips down quickly and slides under the covers. They're not quite touching, and he's not sure if he wants to crawl closer.

That might be pushing it. They never did go in for the cuddling. He turns on his side, away from Tyr. "Thanks for staying."

Tyr's hand is warm on his back. He leans into it.

"Go to sleep."

Yeah. Sleep.

Ok.

* * *

He wakes up slowly, aware of comfort and warmth. He's not alone, and it's not jarring, even though he's not entirely sure, at first, who he's with.

The memories slowly filter through the haze of sleep. Tyr's distinctive scent hits him, and he smiles, realises how hard he is. He might be a burgeoning birthing-snack, but he's still functional.

He turns to face Tyr, who is awake, face turned to look at him. "Awake long?"

"No. Your breathing pattern changed, I woke up."

"Sorry."

Tyr shrugs the best he can while lying on his back. "Reflex."

Harper nods. He gets it. "Thanks for staying. I got some sleep. You can leave now." He's not trying to be dismissive, but Tyr's gotta have things to do.

"I know. It was only a few hours. You should sleep some more."

He sits up. He's got a list of repairs he needs to start, and he really should get on it. "Nah. Too wired. Got things to do. Rommie could use my fabulous skills. I'm good. Best sleep I've had for days. Thanks again." He's suddenly eager to get Tyr out of the room, because if he doesn't - he's not sure, but whatever he does will be a mistake.

"You were told to take care of yourself. Exhaustion is not going to help."

"Big deal. So I'll be a couple days closer to being an all-you-can-eat buffet. What difference does it make?" Tyr ignores him.

He should shower, get some clean clothes. Get off his ass.

Get onto Tyr's ass.

No. Bad thoughts.

It's a nice ass though. He finds himself grinning. A really nice ass. Clings well to leather.

"That expression is disconcerting."

Ah, what the hell. "I'm thinking about your ass." First the apron dusting thing, now this - bad thoughts. Bad.

Tyr smirks. Like people comment on his ass everyday.

Hell, they probably do. Beka sure has. He tries to imagine Dylan making a comment. Like he ever would. And if he did, it would probably including the words 'kick' and 'traitorous Nietzschean' in the sentence.

He remembers thinking, long ago now, that it would be fun to climb on top of Tyr and pull his hair, tease him a little, and then make free with his ass and other parts. It wasn't a good idea at the time, and it probably isn't now. But - it's a fun idea, and the Vedrans know he deserves some kind of fun. In the cosmic scale, he should be tipped towards the fun side.

Tyr can always throw him against the wall if he's not interested. But seeing as he's naked and in Harper's bed, it's a pretty good clue that he's at least not totally repulsed.

So, he pushes the covers aside, and straddles Tyr, taking a moment to appreciate the body underneath him.

"What are you doing?"

He grins, oddly happy and pleased with himself. "I am having fun. The Harper deserves some fun after the recent and forthcoming tragedies of his life. You are lucky that the Harper has chosen you to be the recipient of fun." He smirks. Tyr's gonna cuff him one for sure.

Sure enough, Tyr lurches up, twists and Harper finds himself pinned to the bed. He's been in this position with Tyr before, and this is not what he wants. He pushes away, and Tyr lets him go, looking slightly amused.

"Let the Harper show you the way, Anasazi." Tyr actually rolls his eyes, and Harper fights not to laugh.

"I doubt you could, little man."

That sounds just like a challenge, and he is absolutely up for it. Tyr's not going to know what hit him.