Sharing an intimate space, whether a home, a workplace, or a spaceship, could be a stressful thing, even with friends in family. Toss in a mess of heavily armed strangers, and it quickly became unbearable. There was simultaneously too much to think about, and nothing for Dieter to do. He didn't have a ship to fix. He'd been over the equipment as thoroughly as he could stomach. Talking to the ship's mechanic had been on his to-do list since he'd throughly derailed their rebellious outing on Tycho, but finding the time and privacy to do so had been impossible, between burying the urge for a few days, gathering for the briefing, and undertaking the mission itself. Violet had been acting like nothing was wrong, but something in their dynamic had shifted deeply. If it was obvious to Dieter, that meant it was bad. Finally, he decided that a moment had finally presented itself. It was perhaps two Earth days underway - early enough in the trip that the mood had yet to completely sour, but after the demise of all the enthusiasm and chest-bumping. Confronted with the reality of being trapped in the rusty tin can, their passengers had stopped bouncing off the thin walls, and settled in for the long haul. That night - night being a relative term, when the majority of the crew and cargo had calmed down, he slipped out of his room and gently knocked on the door to hers. He gave it a couple minutes, tried again, then cautiously peered inside. "Vi?" Nothing. He had a feeling about where that might narrow it down to. Stepping over a pair of cuddled up Belter mercenaries, he took to the ladder, and descended down to the engine room. Sure enough, there she was. He didn't lead off with a smile, a wave, or a hug. All of that felt disingenuous. "Hey."