Before the Pacific - [Day 6, Risa, Morning]

[allmhadadh]

He half-slept, something between dream and reality; a restless doze, where he would stir himself awake just to make sure he was still breathing.  And then, confirmed, in the rain tapering to a sprinkle, then a mist, then the clear and clean and hazy scent left afterwards, he would drift back into that half-asleep state again. It wasn't that bad,

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[haroldlee]

It was a comforting blip on his PADD that led Harold to Scotty's spot on the beach.

Heh. He just kept coming back, didn't he? Harold was still very much a predictable creature. Still, this wasn't one of the patterns he wanted to break. This was Scotty and he was more than all right with the desire to find him.

Shit. Scotty looked-- pretty fucking hurt. Worse off than Harold was, certainly. The thought gave him a twist of anger, anguish, sympathy. Who would hurt someone as fucking-- well, good as this man?

He fought off the urge to vomit, as well as the pull to reach out, wake Scotty, ask him ten thousand questions. He could see Scotty was breathing, and there were signs of movement in the sand; he wasn't dead or dying.

Instead, Harold settled in the sand, cross-legged, and watched.

[allmhadadh]

He wasn't really asleep enough to miss Harold climbing down the support strut, but he didn't quite process it very well, either. Just looked long enough to recognize Harold's shape, then went back to resting. Wasn't sure why he went that route. It finally filtered through his head that it probably wasn't the best course of action, and he looked up at Harold without actually getting up. "H'lo."

Not brilliant conversation, that.

[haroldlee]

"Hi," he whispered, a bit choked up. He had several kinds of protective urges welling up, wanting to reach out, give contact; but that just wasn't Scotty's way. Harold had learned that much.

He dug his hand into the sand in front of him, between them.

"Sorry I woke you. You okay?"

[allmhadadh]

"Bit sore." Scotty pushed himself up to sit, not quite able to hold back a wince at the action. He hadn't chanced a look at his side, but he was pretty sure he knew it'd be colorful. He frowned a bit, reaching out with the right hand to push Harold's bangs up and eye the wicked bruise, a slow and carefully non-threatening gesture, then sat back again. "Nae th' only one, apparently. Who did that t' ye?"

[haroldlee]

The nod was all he needed. Heard, accepted, understood. Perfect.

Harold patted Scotty on the shoulder, as softly as he could so as not to jar him. He pulled off a chunk of the pie and ate it, grinning.

Oh, he was still angry. If he ever found the bastards who did this, he'd ram his pool cue in a few choice orifices. Sideways. But he got the feeling Scotty wouldn't tell him who it was, and even if he did, he'd never actually want Harold to do such a thing.

So he ate. Scotty was here, beside him, and he'd fucking take it.

[allmhadadh]

After he made sure his head wasn't bleeding anymore, he went to eat himself, chewing slowly and very carefully to make it as painless as possible. Just ate and stared off to sea, a kind of tired and sad look. He didn't know when they were leaving yet, and he hadn't thought to ask Harold; his brain was all tangled up, and it just didn't occur to him.

[haroldlee]

He downed what he wanted of the pie, washing it back with the water. He eased himself back into the sand this time, leaving Scotty sitting up, hoping he wasn't too close. Didn't want to move again for a while.

He put is hand back out - seemed right, he didn't know why - and closed his eyes. There was several things he wished he could tell Scotty, but he didn't really know how, or if Scotty would want to know. He settled on, "It fucking hurts, man."

[allmhadadh]

"Which part?" He didn't want to go assuming which part; he could guess a few, but likely not all.

Evening

[allmhadadh]

There was very little to be said during the time under the pier; the day wore on in dozing and silence, and evening approached. Harold was the one that suggest they go eat, and Scotty figured he'd give climbing out from under the pier a try. It wasn't easy, and his head was spinning pretty well by the time he got to the top of the support strut, but he made it without falling.

They only had five credits between them, but a couple snack bars wouldn't cost that much, and a meat pie could be breakfast tomorrow.

So, both moving gingerly and slowly, and trying to ignore the various looks at their beat up faces and bodies, they hit the streets.

Re: Evening

[kirktastic]

Kirk already had a few bags under his arms as he walked down along the streets of Risa's infamous shopping district, wanting this whole bit to be over but knowing he had just one very important stop left.

So it was a pretty big surprise when he saw Harold and... something was ticking at him, that the person he was with looked familiar.

And... why the fuck did they look beat to shit?!

"Oi!" Kirk called out, waving a ha--bag at them. "Harold!"

Re: Evening

[haroldlee]

Harold spun on his heel. Bad idea. Every muscle in him protested.

Hoshit, the captain.

Captain Kirk was somewhat less intimidating with an arm full of shopping, but only somewhat.

"Yo," he called back, trying to sound casual.

Re: Evening

[allmhadadh]

Scotty stopped himself when Harold's name was called, and found the source fairly fast. He blinked once, then dropped his voice to Harold. "Who's that?"