Along the long curve, around the corner, up the ramp, around the corner, ladder. Run, climb, run, climb, repeat.

He had more free time these days.

Dylan was ignoring him. A tactical maneuver? Establishing dominance by withholding sex? Tyr snorted. Celibacy was no novelty to him. He had not begun to explore the ship's library. His weapons were in perfect working order. He was extending the favor to the onboard small arms inventory, consulting with the little engineer on upgrades.

The Ship's hologram flickered into being in front of him, hovering in the air, pacing him.

"Dylan's jacket is missing."

He tossed his head, picked up speed.

"It was in your room last."

He rounded the corridor corner, swung onto the ladder to the next level, and started to climb. "That was two weeks ago."

"Where is it, Tyr?"

Dylan used to stay the night, when it was discreet; he liked a brisk morning fuck and a shower, before breakfast. Ship provided him a change of clothes in Tyr's room, placed in a pristine package in the head; his shucked uniform was recovered by housekeeping later in the day. The favor hadn't been extended to Tyr on the few occasions they'd ended wet and messy in Dylan's quarters. As if he'd leave his leather in anyone else's reach. He grinned and vaulted off the ladder, flat into the avatar, who blocked his path like a tank.

He crossed his arms. "He's got other jackets."

"This one is special."

"I burned it."

The android's face froze. She stared. She asked, "Why?"

"Because I could." He moved around her and resumed his run. He swore a breeze behind him cut across his naked calves. The temperature began to drop.

The last leg of the corridor was space cold, burning through his shoes, lancing his lungs, withering his sex, rimming his tearing eyes with ice. He fumbled the top rung of the ladder and half slid down to the next level, bruising a knee. It was a long walk back to his cabin, in the dark. He was thankful the bitch hadn't turned off the air.

His cabin door slid open on lights and relative heat. He swung right, directly into the bathroom and dialed the shower temp to high. His personal stash of toiletries was long depleted. He wanted a bath, a deep soak in soothing minerals and a massage after, a treat he'd sought out on the more civilized drifts. Spice infused oils and heated stones...a hot shower with military-issue soap would have to do. Under the needle spray, his elbows and blades bumping against the stall's fogging walls, he rubbed sensation back into his skin. His feet still felt like ice. Irritated, unsatisfied when the water cycled off, he pulled a towel from the rack and blotted dry. He didn't own a robe, hadn't requisitioned one from Ship's stores. A towel around his hips, another over his shoulder -- he reached for the meds cabinet to see if there was anything that would benefit his knee and saw the package on the counter. Gray sweater, blue rec pants, toothbrush, razor, socks.

Dylan sat in his chair, boots on the bed, reading. Glass of scotch on the table next to him. He didn't look up when Tyr came into the room. He did when a damp towel landed in his lap. "Well." He smiled. Tyr could have slapped it off his face. Dylan made a lazy gesture toward the towel riding low across Tyr's hips. "I was planning on a drink and some conversation first. But if you're in a hurry...."

"You're a rude man, Captain Hunt. You shame whatever degenerate gene-crippled inelegant scum it was who tried to train you."

"Ah, foreplay." The smile didn't slip. His skin looked papery, wrinkled around the eyes, thin across his cheeks. Sickening for something.

"Another concept you fail to comprehend." He pulled his book from Dylan's unresisting hand. "Go away. Come back when you're welcome."

"So, conversation first, after all. What crawled up your ass and died, Mr. Anasazi?"

"Your ship tried to freeze me to death." Tyr looked toward his clothing cabinet. Nothing warm enough in there. His hands were getting cold again, his feet still painful even on the rugs.

"I'll look into it. Anything else on your mind?" Dylan stood up and peeled off his sweater. His hair fluffed with static. A bruise shadowed his ribs, below his left breast. "Rommie's not watching, if you're still feeling shy."

The bed would be warm. Dylan would warm under him. The something not quite right about Dylan could be teased out. Tyr walked into the bathroom and came out with the clothing package. Dylan was sitting on the bed, unfastening his boots. Tyr tore open the clear covering, pulled out the sweater, and dragged it over his head. Tight. Warm. Pressing his bone blades shut. He slapped the cabin door open and tossed the rest of the package into the corridor. "Good night. Get out. Tell me when this becomes clear."

Dylan still sat, holding a boot in both hands. "And I'm asking you again, what's the problem?" His calculating gaze was light blue, cold, clean.

Tyr leaned against the wall, beside the open door.

Dylan shrugged. He pulled on his boots, picked up his sweater, walked across the room. He gripped Tyr's shoulder on his way out the door and leaned close, his bare chest nestling against Tyr's arm. "It's just sex. It doesn't mean anything."

Tyr didn't move, as the door slid shut, after the door shut. His knee throbbed. He limped to the cabinet and pulled out a pair of long rec pants. Dropped his towel and eased them on. Found a pair of thick socks and carried them to the chair.

He leaned over the bed, his locks falling heavy around his face, and pushed a panel of the bed support. Behind it, in a shallow shelf, was a travel bag, battered, leather, and black. He opened it and took out Dylan's jacket. It was as clean as he could make it. He knew it would still smell like him, until the Ship had it cleaned. He carried it to the door, opened it, and threw the jacket into the corridor, on top of the clothes Dylan had left lying there.

"Thank you, Tyr," came Andromeda's voice.

He shut the door, turned off the lights, got into bed. The cabin grew snugly warm.

***

  Learning Curve 3