Fic: "And After That, The Dark" (3/6) ST:XI, Scotty/Sulu, R
OMG, read Call To Vengeance, a FANDAMNTASTIC Drusilla/Rona fic and Atrophy, a smokin'-hot, yet angsty McChekov. Seriously great stuff and deserving of some love. The carnal kind, oh, yeah ;)
In the meantime . . . I blame the bronchitis for the imperfections. I can't seem to edit for shit, recently.
FB and/or concrit is much appreciated.
And After That, The Dark (3/6)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Scotty/Sulu, Scotty/OMC
Rating: R
Notes/Spoilers: Set a few years after the film. Major character death. Demons. Warthogs. Weirdness.
Summary: Summary . . . well, this was inspired by Tennyson's Crossing The Bar, a far better summary than anything I'll ever be capable of writing.
Literally lost in memory, Scotty rambles around the Aberdeen in his mind.
The afternoon is pleasantly warm, if too quiet. Too empty, like Aberdeen never was. It’s a bonny, beautiful day, but for the lowering mirkness hiding behind reality . . . behind the blue, slightly overcast Aberdeen afternoon.
He passes pubs and restaurants that were many of the hallmarks of his misspent youth-leaves them behind for a light jog that turns into a run. Every corner he passes is familiar to him as his own shadow, yet as empty and strange as the vacuum of space. The silence alone causes him to focus on the slap-pound of his feet against stone.
He runs till he can't run anymore. Till he reaches Albert Quay, where the air is clean of everything but salt and freedom.
There, amongst the pleasure craft and trade vessels, he spies the familiar, as well. The Lovely Laura, named so for Commodore Reed's eldest daughter. He even sees, at the distant west pier, the old naval ship that’s sat in the quay for longer than anyone can remember, a museum to time and times past.
Spotting an empty berth, he slows to a jog once more as he turns on to it, stopping only at the very edge to stare of into the horizon.
No sailing ship mars the normally busy waters; the sea’s as flat and serene as a looking glass.
Sitting down, he dangles his legs over the edge of the pier, and stares into water too opaque to show more than a blurry, pale blob of a reflection. He wonders how far this dream extends-how vividly rendered this internal world is. If he could jump into that cold water and swim west, to Atlanta, where Charlotte currently resides. Or south, all the way to the Continent, where his other siblings rattle around like errant dice.
Or if he could swim all the way to San Francisco . . . and Snoony.
Snoony lay on his stomach, eyes closed, humming to himself, letting Scotty look his fill.
He was handsome, and he well knew it. Could’ve had anyone he wanted, in Starfleet or out, yet he chose Scotty.
Oh, aye, there was the ease of long friendship between them, but lately there was something more. In the months since Scotty had finally joined the Academy, this something between them seemed to grow and thrive like a weed . . . then blossom like a flower, till even on a gorgeous day, all he'd had eyes for was his old mate.
“Ye’re staring, Montgomery Scott.”
“And ye’re beautiful,” Scotty had returned, lying down next to Snoony on their blanket. The Academy quad, though busy, was always a lovely place to relax. To lay around with Snoony and let him help with revisions, or prep for quizzes. Or to simply be, on the rare occasion they were both in the same place at once, with nowhere else to be.
Scotty had straddled Snoony’s slim hips and leaned down to kiss his nape. Kissing had turned to licking, had turned to sucking, and grinding his hips slowly against Snoony’s arse.
“So you want t’ get written up for behavior unbecoming a Starfleet cadet, is that it?” But Snoony wasn’t pushing him away, wasn’t doing anything but lying there and practically purring, like a cat on a warm windowsill.
“D’ye have any idea how divine your arse is in your reds?”
“Oh, I have some idea, after all,” had been the lazy reply. That, and Snoony bucking his hips just enough to give Scotty some very bad ideas, indeed. “But they’ll write us both up, you know.”
Nibbling at Snoony’s ear, Scotty had laughed. “Mmm, then come back t' my dorm room.”
“We’re supposed to be prepping you for an examination, not . . . Scotty . . . when it comes to rules an’ regs, Starfleet is notoriously picky. The questions are gonna be hard-”
“Really, really hard,” Scotty had whispered, and intensified his grinding, never caring that he was simulating fucking his boyfriend in full view of anyone who cared to look.
Or he had been, till Snoony had toppled him over.
“Ow! Feck!” Scotty moaned, trying to sit up despite the spinning of his head and general ache of hitting ground like a sack of potatoes. Failing that, he simply lay there, clutching his head and squinching his eyes shut. “That was a bit uncalled for!”
“Was it?”
And Scotty’d learned it was best not to argue with that pissy, prissy tone, so he’d changed tactics. “Look, love, there’s only one question I need the answer t’, and ye’re the only one who can give it t’ me.
“When're ye gonna say yes t’ my proposal?”
Snoony had sighed, and rolled onto his back to stare at the sky. “Perhaps after ye stop trying t’ get me arrested.”
“Cretin. I’m dead serious,” Scotty inched across the grass till he and Snoony were shoulder to shoulder. Snoony reached out and caressed Scotty’s face and smiled when Scotty caught his hand and kissed it.
“Montgomery . . . you know neither of us is ready for marriage,” he’d said softly, hazel eyes as serious as Scotty’d ever seen them. . . .
“I reckon I don’t care. I reckon no one’s ready for marriage. But they do it, all the same,” Scotty tells the setting sun, just like he’d once told Snoony, then he rubs dry eyes. He’s never been one to cry-not even when his mum died, not even when he thought his heart would break beyond repair-
No amount of swimming’ll serve Scotty any better than sitting here, alone; so, so alone but for the memories that threaten to break him like they once did. Threaten to sweep him under, like they had in his last year of Starfleet.
They never had got married, like Scotty had wanted and, he was beginning to suspect, Snoony did not. And even if they had, that wouldn’t have changed any-damn-thing. Snoony wanted to see the universe, and he couldn’t do that on Earth, tied to husband who still had yet to graduate and who, Scotty would also come to realize, he wasn’t in love with.
Just before the final leg of the program, (after which Scotty would've served as some lucky chief engineer's second on a two year mission, after which he'd have been eligible for promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Commander), two things happened:
Snoony had been reassigned to a sweetheart of a commission. He was part of the security detail assigned to the Federation Ambassador to Cardassia.
The second thing didn’t happen for another several months, until Snoony was firmly ensconced in his assignment. He got mixed up-in every way possible-with a young Cardassian apparatchik named Zeged Tain (son of a renowned and influential Gul, brother to a ruthless and brutal Liget). There'd been some sort of scandal involving the supposed trading of secrets, and the young Tain's ties to a rumored shadow government called the Obsidian Order.
Before Starfleet even found out one of their own had been involved, Zeged Tain and Fyodor Agata had disappeared so completely, there were no doubts as to the Cardassian government's involvement.
Relations between the Federation had wilted, after that incident.
Searching for a new anchor, Scotty had buckled under his studies, spent more time in labs and engine rooms than any ten students. Dared things they never would have dared-and using the pet of a person most students had only ever seen on the holo, as his guinea pig.
It'd never occurred to him he might not be able to get the poor animal where it was going safely, then back, so confident was he in his dreams, and his grasp of them. If only he could show them all. . . .
He'd never have done it if he'd had Snoony around to call him a daft egomaniac. As it was, Jem, who was skint (again) and sleeping on Scotty’s floor these four weeks, merely spurred him on to new nadirs of complete fuckwittery.
And when the program ended, instead of being a lieutenant on a fancy new ship of the Fleet-say, the Farragut, or the Enterprise . . . that lovely jewel of a lady-he was on Delta Vega, freezing his bollocks off, nocht to do but drink, and nane to keep him company but poor Keenser.
The waking world had seemed further away than ever, for all the good it'd done him. Kept drifting further and further from his half-hearted grasp, until a completely barking lad, and an even more barking old Vulcan turned up in his lonely little section of the waking universe.
In a shorter time than he could've guessed, he was a hero-renowned, and a lieutenant commander on that very lady he'd been half in love with, sight unseen, since first glimpsing the blueprints for her engine.
“Enterprise,” he murmurs, with the kind of pride and warmth only Jim Kirk, jolly, arrogant wee madman that he is, truly understands. As with Kirk, most days, Enterprise is the only part of waking reality that feels real. Being on her is like finally, finally having both feet on the ground, while still being able to stick his head up in the clouds. “My Enterprise.”
“Yes,” a low voice says; warm hands land lightly on his shoulder, and squeeze for a moment.
"Snoony?" Scotty asks, looking up, a ready smile on his lips and tears running down his face.
*
Scotty struggles out of a more natural dover than his last; the cell that'd been so cool before has grown over-warm-near to sweltering.
The very first thing he notices is Sulu, sitting across from him, knees drawn up, arms and head resting wearily upon them. He doesn’t seem any worse for wear; whatever the Ennorgn took him out of the cell to do to him wasn’t anything too terrible.
Scotty hopes. It’s hard to tell with the dim, grey lighting.
More than half convinced he's hallucinating now, he rolls painstakingly to hands and knees-surprised when the room swims and spins, but not nearly as much as he'd feared it might-and crawls toward his crewmate.
He gets quite close, and still can't tell if Sulu's real or not, breathing or not, playing possum or genuinely sleeping. He's afraid to reach out and touch, so he sits back on his heels and says Sulu's name in a shaking, ragged whisper.
Sulu immediately sits up, opening his good eye, but not tracking too well.
"What're ye doin', sittin' so still, lad?" Scotty asks, finally laying his hand on Sulu's shoulder. The material of his shirt is cool, and Sulu squints at him intently.
"Can you hear it, yet?"
"Um. Can dogs really no' look up?" When Sulu gives him a confused look, Scotty snorts. "Apologies. I thought we were answering questions wi' other, completely random questions-nae matter. I dinna hear anything. D'ye?"
Sulu frowns just a little. Someone who didn't know him might not have seen it at all. "I was trying not to wake you," he says then clutches his head, looking for all the world like a man who's got the weight of the world on his shoulders.
As well he would. Neither of us is in any shape to form or execute an escape plan, and the Enterprise could look for us till Doomsday, and nae find us, because of these blasted caves. . . .
Scotty takes one of Sulu’s hands away from it’s futile task and squeezes it. "D'ye ken how long since we were taken?"
"More than six hours, less than twelve?" Sulu's bleak, calm gaze meets his own again, and he squeezes back. "It's hard to tell. Time tangos and waltzes . . . it's kinda funny, now."
"Don't have t' tell me. Felt like I was out for a fortnight, but I clearly wasn't. I've only been awake a few minutes and already it feels like a lifetime. Must be the company."
Another smile, and Sulu lets go of his hand. And even though his skin is too clammy, too cool, Scotty immediately misses the comfort of his touch.
“So what did they want from you?”
Sulu blinks. “Who?”
“Silly man-the Ennorgn! The bloody warthogs!”
“Oh. Them.” Sulu smiles again, with genuine amusement. “They’ve gotten all they can get from me, which is nothing. Hey, how long do you think till the cavalry rides in on the white chargers?"
Scotty sighs miserably. “We should've checked in a few hours ago. They have t’ know something's gone wrong. I take it our comm-badges dinna work in this pit?”
Sulu takes Scotty's hand again, and presses it to his chest-to his badge. Nothing. “Unfortunately not. We're too far down and whatever this rock is, it's blocking our signal. A security team'll probably be sent to our last recorded position, but even with the others to guide them, they'll have no way of finding us once they're in these caves. And the Ennorgn are waiting for them.”
“Feck. Any ideas on how we're quit o' this place?” Scotty asks hopefully.
No change in that gaze, that bleary regard. In all the time they've known each other, Hikaru Sulu's been a still, self-contained man. A quiet man-the type Scotty would've once said would never get along with, or tolerate the likes of a braggart such as himself. Time has proved Scotty wrong on this, as with so many other little, and not so little things.
But this silence, this self-containment is quite different. It's not alert, not at all present and accounted for. As if Sulu half thinks he's asleep.
"D'ye hear me, then?" Scotty demands, trying to keep the worry out of his voice, and failing. But Sulu blinks again, and shakes his head, like a man shaking himself out of a dream.
"I heard you."
"Alright, then, let's have it? Any ideas? Slowly-dinna glaiber on so, man! I canna hear m'self think for a' the chatter!” he adds, when Sulu's answer is nothing but that enigmatic little half-smile.
Then that half smile becomes an unmistakable one, and Scotty remembers that this-this actual enjoyment, not just a high tolerance of his strident brand of sarcasm-is one of the many things that have, over time, made them friends.
“Winna ye at least sit closer, then?” Scotty asks softly, holding out his hand, and Sulu nods once, holding out his own. Scotty snorts, and grabs the proffered hand, pulling on it as hard as his weakened condition will allow. “Get over, here, y' silly, wee man! Y' gi' me a crimp in m' neck, cranin' over at ye!”
Laughing quietly, Sulu shifts closer without letting go of Scotty's hand. Doesn't object when Scotty scoots closer and closer, till he can lay his head on Sulu's shoulder. After a few stiff minutes, Sulu finally relaxes, and dares to work his arm around Scotty's shoulders. He's so blessedly cool, so rock-steady.
Shortly, Scotty finds himself drifting off again, and that can’t be good, not in his condition, but exhaustion’s a freight train that won’t be stopped by the likes of him.
“D’ye think they’ll find us in time, then?”
There’s no answer.
Scotty’s still waiting for one when sleep takes him.
TBC
In the meantime . . . I blame the bronchitis for the imperfections. I can't seem to edit for shit, recently.
FB and/or concrit is much appreciated.
And After That, The Dark (3/6)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Scotty/Sulu, Scotty/OMC
Rating: R
Notes/Spoilers: Set a few years after the film. Major character death. Demons. Warthogs. Weirdness.
Summary: Summary . . . well, this was inspired by Tennyson's Crossing The Bar, a far better summary than anything I'll ever be capable of writing.
Literally lost in memory, Scotty rambles around the Aberdeen in his mind.
The afternoon is pleasantly warm, if too quiet. Too empty, like Aberdeen never was. It’s a bonny, beautiful day, but for the lowering mirkness hiding behind reality . . . behind the blue, slightly overcast Aberdeen afternoon.
He passes pubs and restaurants that were many of the hallmarks of his misspent youth-leaves them behind for a light jog that turns into a run. Every corner he passes is familiar to him as his own shadow, yet as empty and strange as the vacuum of space. The silence alone causes him to focus on the slap-pound of his feet against stone.
He runs till he can't run anymore. Till he reaches Albert Quay, where the air is clean of everything but salt and freedom.
There, amongst the pleasure craft and trade vessels, he spies the familiar, as well. The Lovely Laura, named so for Commodore Reed's eldest daughter. He even sees, at the distant west pier, the old naval ship that’s sat in the quay for longer than anyone can remember, a museum to time and times past.
Spotting an empty berth, he slows to a jog once more as he turns on to it, stopping only at the very edge to stare of into the horizon.
No sailing ship mars the normally busy waters; the sea’s as flat and serene as a looking glass.
Sitting down, he dangles his legs over the edge of the pier, and stares into water too opaque to show more than a blurry, pale blob of a reflection. He wonders how far this dream extends-how vividly rendered this internal world is. If he could jump into that cold water and swim west, to Atlanta, where Charlotte currently resides. Or south, all the way to the Continent, where his other siblings rattle around like errant dice.
Or if he could swim all the way to San Francisco . . . and Snoony.
Snoony lay on his stomach, eyes closed, humming to himself, letting Scotty look his fill.
He was handsome, and he well knew it. Could’ve had anyone he wanted, in Starfleet or out, yet he chose Scotty.
Oh, aye, there was the ease of long friendship between them, but lately there was something more. In the months since Scotty had finally joined the Academy, this something between them seemed to grow and thrive like a weed . . . then blossom like a flower, till even on a gorgeous day, all he'd had eyes for was his old mate.
“Ye’re staring, Montgomery Scott.”
“And ye’re beautiful,” Scotty had returned, lying down next to Snoony on their blanket. The Academy quad, though busy, was always a lovely place to relax. To lay around with Snoony and let him help with revisions, or prep for quizzes. Or to simply be, on the rare occasion they were both in the same place at once, with nowhere else to be.
Scotty had straddled Snoony’s slim hips and leaned down to kiss his nape. Kissing had turned to licking, had turned to sucking, and grinding his hips slowly against Snoony’s arse.
“So you want t’ get written up for behavior unbecoming a Starfleet cadet, is that it?” But Snoony wasn’t pushing him away, wasn’t doing anything but lying there and practically purring, like a cat on a warm windowsill.
“D’ye have any idea how divine your arse is in your reds?”
“Oh, I have some idea, after all,” had been the lazy reply. That, and Snoony bucking his hips just enough to give Scotty some very bad ideas, indeed. “But they’ll write us both up, you know.”
Nibbling at Snoony’s ear, Scotty had laughed. “Mmm, then come back t' my dorm room.”
“We’re supposed to be prepping you for an examination, not . . . Scotty . . . when it comes to rules an’ regs, Starfleet is notoriously picky. The questions are gonna be hard-”
“Really, really hard,” Scotty had whispered, and intensified his grinding, never caring that he was simulating fucking his boyfriend in full view of anyone who cared to look.
Or he had been, till Snoony had toppled him over.
“Ow! Feck!” Scotty moaned, trying to sit up despite the spinning of his head and general ache of hitting ground like a sack of potatoes. Failing that, he simply lay there, clutching his head and squinching his eyes shut. “That was a bit uncalled for!”
“Was it?”
And Scotty’d learned it was best not to argue with that pissy, prissy tone, so he’d changed tactics. “Look, love, there’s only one question I need the answer t’, and ye’re the only one who can give it t’ me.
“When're ye gonna say yes t’ my proposal?”
Snoony had sighed, and rolled onto his back to stare at the sky. “Perhaps after ye stop trying t’ get me arrested.”
“Cretin. I’m dead serious,” Scotty inched across the grass till he and Snoony were shoulder to shoulder. Snoony reached out and caressed Scotty’s face and smiled when Scotty caught his hand and kissed it.
“Montgomery . . . you know neither of us is ready for marriage,” he’d said softly, hazel eyes as serious as Scotty’d ever seen them. . . .
“I reckon I don’t care. I reckon no one’s ready for marriage. But they do it, all the same,” Scotty tells the setting sun, just like he’d once told Snoony, then he rubs dry eyes. He’s never been one to cry-not even when his mum died, not even when he thought his heart would break beyond repair-
No amount of swimming’ll serve Scotty any better than sitting here, alone; so, so alone but for the memories that threaten to break him like they once did. Threaten to sweep him under, like they had in his last year of Starfleet.
They never had got married, like Scotty had wanted and, he was beginning to suspect, Snoony did not. And even if they had, that wouldn’t have changed any-damn-thing. Snoony wanted to see the universe, and he couldn’t do that on Earth, tied to husband who still had yet to graduate and who, Scotty would also come to realize, he wasn’t in love with.
Just before the final leg of the program, (after which Scotty would've served as some lucky chief engineer's second on a two year mission, after which he'd have been eligible for promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Commander), two things happened:
Snoony had been reassigned to a sweetheart of a commission. He was part of the security detail assigned to the Federation Ambassador to Cardassia.
The second thing didn’t happen for another several months, until Snoony was firmly ensconced in his assignment. He got mixed up-in every way possible-with a young Cardassian apparatchik named Zeged Tain (son of a renowned and influential Gul, brother to a ruthless and brutal Liget). There'd been some sort of scandal involving the supposed trading of secrets, and the young Tain's ties to a rumored shadow government called the Obsidian Order.
Before Starfleet even found out one of their own had been involved, Zeged Tain and Fyodor Agata had disappeared so completely, there were no doubts as to the Cardassian government's involvement.
Relations between the Federation had wilted, after that incident.
Searching for a new anchor, Scotty had buckled under his studies, spent more time in labs and engine rooms than any ten students. Dared things they never would have dared-and using the pet of a person most students had only ever seen on the holo, as his guinea pig.
It'd never occurred to him he might not be able to get the poor animal where it was going safely, then back, so confident was he in his dreams, and his grasp of them. If only he could show them all. . . .
He'd never have done it if he'd had Snoony around to call him a daft egomaniac. As it was, Jem, who was skint (again) and sleeping on Scotty’s floor these four weeks, merely spurred him on to new nadirs of complete fuckwittery.
And when the program ended, instead of being a lieutenant on a fancy new ship of the Fleet-say, the Farragut, or the Enterprise . . . that lovely jewel of a lady-he was on Delta Vega, freezing his bollocks off, nocht to do but drink, and nane to keep him company but poor Keenser.
The waking world had seemed further away than ever, for all the good it'd done him. Kept drifting further and further from his half-hearted grasp, until a completely barking lad, and an even more barking old Vulcan turned up in his lonely little section of the waking universe.
In a shorter time than he could've guessed, he was a hero-renowned, and a lieutenant commander on that very lady he'd been half in love with, sight unseen, since first glimpsing the blueprints for her engine.
“Enterprise,” he murmurs, with the kind of pride and warmth only Jim Kirk, jolly, arrogant wee madman that he is, truly understands. As with Kirk, most days, Enterprise is the only part of waking reality that feels real. Being on her is like finally, finally having both feet on the ground, while still being able to stick his head up in the clouds. “My Enterprise.”
“Yes,” a low voice says; warm hands land lightly on his shoulder, and squeeze for a moment.
"Snoony?" Scotty asks, looking up, a ready smile on his lips and tears running down his face.
*
Scotty struggles out of a more natural dover than his last; the cell that'd been so cool before has grown over-warm-near to sweltering.
The very first thing he notices is Sulu, sitting across from him, knees drawn up, arms and head resting wearily upon them. He doesn’t seem any worse for wear; whatever the Ennorgn took him out of the cell to do to him wasn’t anything too terrible.
Scotty hopes. It’s hard to tell with the dim, grey lighting.
More than half convinced he's hallucinating now, he rolls painstakingly to hands and knees-surprised when the room swims and spins, but not nearly as much as he'd feared it might-and crawls toward his crewmate.
He gets quite close, and still can't tell if Sulu's real or not, breathing or not, playing possum or genuinely sleeping. He's afraid to reach out and touch, so he sits back on his heels and says Sulu's name in a shaking, ragged whisper.
Sulu immediately sits up, opening his good eye, but not tracking too well.
"What're ye doin', sittin' so still, lad?" Scotty asks, finally laying his hand on Sulu's shoulder. The material of his shirt is cool, and Sulu squints at him intently.
"Can you hear it, yet?"
"Um. Can dogs really no' look up?" When Sulu gives him a confused look, Scotty snorts. "Apologies. I thought we were answering questions wi' other, completely random questions-nae matter. I dinna hear anything. D'ye?"
Sulu frowns just a little. Someone who didn't know him might not have seen it at all. "I was trying not to wake you," he says then clutches his head, looking for all the world like a man who's got the weight of the world on his shoulders.
As well he would. Neither of us is in any shape to form or execute an escape plan, and the Enterprise could look for us till Doomsday, and nae find us, because of these blasted caves. . . .
Scotty takes one of Sulu’s hands away from it’s futile task and squeezes it. "D'ye ken how long since we were taken?"
"More than six hours, less than twelve?" Sulu's bleak, calm gaze meets his own again, and he squeezes back. "It's hard to tell. Time tangos and waltzes . . . it's kinda funny, now."
"Don't have t' tell me. Felt like I was out for a fortnight, but I clearly wasn't. I've only been awake a few minutes and already it feels like a lifetime. Must be the company."
Another smile, and Sulu lets go of his hand. And even though his skin is too clammy, too cool, Scotty immediately misses the comfort of his touch.
“So what did they want from you?”
Sulu blinks. “Who?”
“Silly man-the Ennorgn! The bloody warthogs!”
“Oh. Them.” Sulu smiles again, with genuine amusement. “They’ve gotten all they can get from me, which is nothing. Hey, how long do you think till the cavalry rides in on the white chargers?"
Scotty sighs miserably. “We should've checked in a few hours ago. They have t’ know something's gone wrong. I take it our comm-badges dinna work in this pit?”
Sulu takes Scotty's hand again, and presses it to his chest-to his badge. Nothing. “Unfortunately not. We're too far down and whatever this rock is, it's blocking our signal. A security team'll probably be sent to our last recorded position, but even with the others to guide them, they'll have no way of finding us once they're in these caves. And the Ennorgn are waiting for them.”
“Feck. Any ideas on how we're quit o' this place?” Scotty asks hopefully.
No change in that gaze, that bleary regard. In all the time they've known each other, Hikaru Sulu's been a still, self-contained man. A quiet man-the type Scotty would've once said would never get along with, or tolerate the likes of a braggart such as himself. Time has proved Scotty wrong on this, as with so many other little, and not so little things.
But this silence, this self-containment is quite different. It's not alert, not at all present and accounted for. As if Sulu half thinks he's asleep.
"D'ye hear me, then?" Scotty demands, trying to keep the worry out of his voice, and failing. But Sulu blinks again, and shakes his head, like a man shaking himself out of a dream.
"I heard you."
"Alright, then, let's have it? Any ideas? Slowly-dinna glaiber on so, man! I canna hear m'self think for a' the chatter!” he adds, when Sulu's answer is nothing but that enigmatic little half-smile.
Then that half smile becomes an unmistakable one, and Scotty remembers that this-this actual enjoyment, not just a high tolerance of his strident brand of sarcasm-is one of the many things that have, over time, made them friends.
“Winna ye at least sit closer, then?” Scotty asks softly, holding out his hand, and Sulu nods once, holding out his own. Scotty snorts, and grabs the proffered hand, pulling on it as hard as his weakened condition will allow. “Get over, here, y' silly, wee man! Y' gi' me a crimp in m' neck, cranin' over at ye!”
Laughing quietly, Sulu shifts closer without letting go of Scotty's hand. Doesn't object when Scotty scoots closer and closer, till he can lay his head on Sulu's shoulder. After a few stiff minutes, Sulu finally relaxes, and dares to work his arm around Scotty's shoulders. He's so blessedly cool, so rock-steady.
Shortly, Scotty finds himself drifting off again, and that can’t be good, not in his condition, but exhaustion’s a freight train that won’t be stopped by the likes of him.
“D’ye think they’ll find us in time, then?”
There’s no answer.
Scotty’s still waiting for one when sleep takes him.
TBC