Please see Part One for warnings and acknowledgements.

Toccata in D-Minor

No Good Deed …

Dylan walked in to his quarters, threw the bag in the general direction of a bedroom and folded himself into a chair, face buried in his hands.  He felt like a marionette with the strings cut off, limp and lifeless.  He knew he should be happy, they had found Ortiz and were able, or rather he was able to convince her to crawl out of her hiding hole and help his cause.  Not that she had much of a hole left to hide in anyway, but still… And yet it felt like a hollow victory.  Cory died by a hand of a demented pregnant woman, Trance lost her tail and now he was not even sure Ortiz -- or Sephia, whatever she wanted to call herself, was the right person for the job.  And to top it all off his arm twitched and the wound throbbed and bothered the hell out of him.  He knew he had to get up and take a shower, maybe sleep a little, but couldn't make himself move.

"You need to bathe, your smell is beginning to be offensive."

Dylan's looked up at the sound of Tyr's voice and was surprised to see his resident Nietzschean standing in front of him. Cleanly shaven and obviously just out of the shower he was a picture of order and composure.  Suddenly Dylan had a mental image of Tyr in the shower, water running in swirling rivulets over the warm gold of his skin, white soap lather in stark contrast with his darkness, damp dreads clinging to the muscular back and chest… He shook his head vehemently, where did that come from?

"What?  Tyr, what are you doing here and how did you get in?"

"To answer your questions in order, I said that you need to bathe, I am here to take care of your wound and I walked in because you left the door open."

Now Dylan saw that Anasazi held a medical kit in his hand.

"Did Trance send you?"

"No, Trance is busy mourning her tail and Captain Valentine is attempting to console her."  The corner of Tyr's mouth twitched, he still found it amusing.

"And you suddenly felt that one good deed for the day is not enough and decided to play doctor with me?  Thank you kindly, Tyr, but I am just fine."

"I am sure you are well aware, Captain, sir, that the words "good Samaritan" are not in my vocabulary.  Your wound has gotten infected, whatever that poor excuse for a medic did to it was not enough or even made it worse."

"And how do you know that?"

"You mean beside the fact that you constantly touching or rubbing it?  I can smell it."

"So, if you are not doing it out of the goodness of your heart -- that is if you actually have one -- what could possibly possess you to come here?"  Dylan's sarcasm was evident in the tone of his voice, together with the hint of amusement.

"My survival today depends largely on you, Captain Hunt, so it is in my interest to ensure your well-being.  It would do me no good if you become incapacitated. Now, if you are done with your interrogation and exercises in sarcasm I suggest that you bathe.  I will wait here and tend to your injury when you are done."

Dylan was too tired to argue so he got up and dragged himself to the shower.  When he took his shirt off he saw that his bicep was swollen, red and hot to touch.  Well, Tyr was right after all.  He turned on the spray and got in.  For a split second he thought about the Nietzschean getting in here with him. 'I must be running a fever,' he thought to himself, forcing the image out if his mind. Not that he was against having a relationship with a man, but Anasazi?

The object of Dylan's wayward thoughts was actually having a similar discussion with himself.  His advanced hearing allowed him to discern the sounds coming from the bathroom even with the interference of the noise of running water.  He heard the rustle of the leather when Dylan took off his jacket and pants and faint clunk of the belt buckle on the tiles when these items hit the floor.  The shower door opened and closed and the rhythmic beat of water on the stall walls and floor changed to an irregular one when Dylan stepped in.  He noticed the sharp intake of breath when rough sponge swiped over the inflamed flesh around the wound on Dylan's arm. He caught himself wanting to walk in there and …  He cannot possibly be thinking that!  He admitted, Hunt was an exceptional specimen of human male, fit and attractive… Tyr suddenly realized that his schpiel about survival and mutual dependency was just one big rationalization.  He wanted to help Hunt; he wanted to stop his pain because he hated to see him hurt. Trying to divert himself from this dangerous path of thinking he called out:

"Ship!  Increase the air filtering level in Captain Hunt's quarters and send a droid here with food, your Captain hasn't eaten properly in at least two days."

Rommie thought of a tart reply but Tyr's request actually made sense so she just said a short 'Aye' before proceeding.

"Well, thank you, Mother!" Dylan walked out of the shower, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of soft drawstring pants sitting low on his hips.  Tyr looked at his arm and winced, it looked nasty.

“Would you care to sit down, Captain, so I can get it over with?”

“Why, Tyr, you are all heart,” Dylan smarted, sitting down on the barstool. When he saw Anasazi pull out a syringe he cringed, “is it really necessary?”

Tyr raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly, “My Captain, if I didn’t know any better I would say that you are afraid of needles.  But surely I am mistaken, aren’t I?”

Dylan looked uncomfortable, and then turned away and said, “just get on with it, will you?” It turned out that Anasazi was quite skillful.  When Dylan commented on that, Tyr almost smiled.

“I am sure, Captain, that you remember well what I did for a living before joining you and your noble cause?”

“I do.”

“So, you mist understand that this is just one of the skills I acquired in the process.  After all, painless injection in an undetectable location is a very efficient way of delivering poison.  And if one is trained in inflicting wounds he must now how to fix them, especially if it is for his own benefit.”

“I take it you have had your fare share, Tyr?” Dylan’s gaze was almost warm.  Tyr wondered about it for a second before answering.

“In the beginning, yes.  But I learned my lessons well.”

“I am sure you did.  I see you have become quite an expert in medicine among your other talents.” 

Tyr pressed the final bandage on with a little more force then necessary which made Hunt jump.

“You know what you are doing, Anasazi, but your bedside manner needs improvement!”

“And what did you expect me to do, kiss and make it better?”

“And if I did?”

“Then maybe I would have done just that!”  Tyr’s face was so close to Dylan’s that Hunt could feel the Nietzschean’s breath on his lips, his dark eyes held a challenge that Dylan was not yet ready to accept.  Tyr smirked and straightened, closed the kit and turned to leave.  When the door opened he looked back at Hunt, “I suggest you eat and rest, Captain, you will need a clear head tomorrow.” The door closed with quiet hiss and Dylan just sat there, staring at his untouched dinner.   

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