Disclaimer: obviously none of the characters or specifics belong to me.
If you haven't already, read Chapter 1 here.
Chapter 2
Tyr was in a foul mood. He wasn't certain exactly why, but he was all too aware of the shortness of his temper. He started off the morning with a barely concealed growl as he passed a particularly bright and cheerful Trance in the hallway. (Despite her more serious demeanor of late, he had noted that both the old and new Trance retained the sunny disposition of that most annoying of personalities, the "morning person".) She merely smiled as she passed him, but with a particularly secretive look, as if she knew something to smile about that he could only guess at, which did nothing but increase his irritation.
He made his way quickly to the gym, to spend some solitary time pounding an inanimate bag into submission. Normally of late, he'd be sharing the gym with Beka, and perhaps training her further in hand to hand, but with her wrist still sprained, she had forgone their morning matches for the last couple of days. Of course, he also suspected rather strongly that she was avoiding him since their encounter the other evening. A fact which he found himself inexplicably grateful for this morning. Not that he minded training with Beka, usually. She had a quick mind, and tolerably good reflexes for an unaltered human. Of all the crew, save perhaps Rommie's avatar - she was a war ship, after all -- Beka gave him the best run for his money in a fight. Yet even, or perhaps especially, that thought irritated him this morning. The term "run for his money" was an old earth saying that Dylan sometimes used. Tyr did not like the fact that such things were creeping into his everyday thoughts. He was getting far too comfortable here. Far too complacent in his position onboard this ship, with this crew.
And that, he thought suddenly, was the crux of it all.
He entered the gymnasium and quickly stripped off his shirt, setting up the heavy bag for a good bout of sweat and tension relief. It was mindless exercise, requiring little attention on his part, so that his thoughts were free to brood. And he felt very much like brooding. He didn't want to feel any attachment to the Andromeda or her crew. He had, over the course of their acquaintance, allowed himself to feel a kind of brother-in-arms camaraderie with them. A you-save-my-life-and-I'll-save-yours sort of mutual dependency. The sort one must develop between fellow warriors on the field of battle. But that was as far as it went. Until now.
He'd begun to suspect for several weeks now, that his feelings had extended to something resembling friendship for much of the crew. And friendship, in Tyr's estimation, was not something to be lightly discarded when the need arose, as it eventually would. Now, after his encounter with Beka when she'd been so obviously hurting and drunk, he didn't only suspect. He knew. He cared for his crewmates. He worried about their foibles and weaknesses. Especially their weaknesses. He didn't just worry over how such things might effect him, and his plans, detrimentally. He worried about how they might injure themselves, such as Beka had done.
At first, he'd merely been annoyed that a woman - a warrior - of such potential, would lower herself to show such a flawed and weak dependency as an overindulgence of alcohol. And he'd wondered how she'd managed to get herself back to the ship, alone and vulnerable as she so obviously was, in her inebriated state. To be honest, it hadn't just annoyed him. He'd felt...outraged. And angry with her. But then, he'd glimpsed something beneath her exterior bravado as she'd stumbled and fallen. Something lurking in the depths of her blue eyes that had struck him with the impact of a physical blow. Pain. The kind of heart wrenching pain that only great loss could cause. And then she'd started to cry. Beka Valentine, crying. He'd been shocked, and then uncomfortable, and for a moment, he'd felt utterly, supremely arrogant at this further proof of weakness among normal humanity. It had shamed him.
He couldn't believe it. He felt ashamed because she was crying, and he'd reacted to it as any Nietszchean would. It was at that exact moment that he knew; he was irrevocably, unfortunately attached to his crewmates. Friendship. He thought the word with all the invective of a truly scurrilous curse.
He wasn't aware of the passing of time, or of the gym door opening and closing. He knew instantly, however, when her presence closed within attacking distance, and he stopped his rhythmic attack of the heavy bag, breathing quicker than normal, but not yet heavily. Less than an hour had passed, he estimated, by the effects of the workout on his body. He knew it was Beka; he could identify all of his crewmates by the unique scent of each, and only Harper's was occasionally distasteful - the young "genius" liked to use a bit too much cologne on occasion.
Tyr didn't turn around. It actually took him a moment to master a flood of annoyance at the intrusion, and he didn't want to lash out at her on her first attempt to approach him in two days.
"Beka," he managed neutrally as he stripped the gloves from his hands. He crossed to a small bench and picked up a towel to absently wipe the thin sheen of sweat from his torso. "I didn't think your wrist would be healed enough to resume our workouts for another few days."
She didn't answer right away, and he flicked a glance her direction, to find her fiddling with the bandage wrapped around her arm. It was unlike Beka to hesitate in speech; she tended more than any of the rest of them to speak first and think later. It was actually one of the things he liked most about her. That thought had him scowling again immediately, and he looked quickly away, lest she glance up and see it.
"No...not for another few days," she said finally. "Tyr...I wanted to thank you for...for helping me the other night. And for not saying anything to anyone about it." Bravely, she abandoned her perusal of the bandage and folded her hands before her as she finally looked directly at him. "It...wasn't a good night for me. I appreciate it."
How difficult that must be for her to say, he thought. Beka Valentine was not used to giving thanks, much like he himself. They were actually a great deal alike in a number of uncomfortable ways. It disturbed Tyr to understand a lesser human so well. He kept his expression blank as he nodded in reply.
"I'm glad you're doing better," he said simply, and when the silence stretched and became awkward, he continued with, "I hope that wrist will be up to slipstream piloting today."
She glanced down at it again.
"Yes, I think it will." Suddenly, she flushed with embarrassment. "I want to thank you, too, for wrapping it for me after I fell asleep."
Tyr looked away. It had been a very uncomfortable moment for him, watching her tough faade fade to vulnerability as she slept. He'd wrapped the wrist and made sure she'd sustained no other injuries that might prove troublesome, and then he'd sat there for a moment, just watching her sleep. Something in the repose of her tear streaked face had drawn him to brush her hair aside, just a quick flick of fingers and wrist that had, again, shocked him. He'd completed the motion before realizing what he was about to do. He fled the Eureka Maru, and her presence, before any other strange impulses could take him, and he could only be grateful, now, that she was blissfully unaware of his transgression. He was sure she would be as embarrassed by it as he was.
His words, when he spoke, were gruff and dismissive.
"It was nothing," he muttered, flinging the towel over his shoulder as he intentionally turned his back to her and headed toward the showers. He knew his actions were abrupt to the point of rudeness, but he didn't feel it was out of character enough to alarm her, and he felt the sudden need to get away, before he said or did something more embarrassing yet. He had the sudden, inexplicable urge to examine her wrist for himself, to be sure of its soundness, and even more alarming, to use the moment to discern her emotional well being. To see if she had been crying recently. To see if her eyes still reflected pain.
He retreated from the gym before he could give in to any such whimsies, and promised himself to be better in control of his faculties when he was next in her presence.
On to Part 3