Repairs - [Closed]

The work wasn't hard work, but Scotty was almost painfully grateful for it.  It so turned out that his little jury-rigged project had exploited a weakness in the connection points of the lighting system, where each element joined to the next.  He scrambled the ones overhead in the little homemade botany lab, with its special modified lights, and it cascaded to blow out the main junctures.  If it'd destroyed every one, it'd be days of work.  This, only hours.

He was still glad of it.  Not of causing the damage, but of having something to do.

Once the older man, somehow a Scott, had showed him and Harold how to make the right repairs, he'd grasped it quickly and then stayed alongside Harold for another twenty minutes or so, helping Harold until he was as smooth as a technician would be; tips on how to hold the tools, how to move aside the fiber-lines, how to wire in new connections. The only show of gratitude he could think to give for now.

Then Scotty moved off to his own work, and found the steady, easy rhythm; that internal quiet he found when he worked with his hands.  He loved working with his hands, and things that were concrete and that he could fix.  His first real job had been in a salvage yard, taking what was broken and doing all he could to save it.  Sometimes he failed.  Sometimes he succeeded.

Always, he tried.

Now he worked again, something to keep his troubled thoughts at bay; worked the tangible, what appealed to his senses.  Narrow sight, the hum of the energy through reactivated lines in his ears, the cool materials in his fingers.  Forgot long since the bruises on his arms, or the fact he was still hungry and now thirsty.

Forgot that he was lost, and worse than he could even begin to understand.

In the work, he was there; he was good, and reached for perfect.  Sometimes he failed, and mostly he succeeded, but always he tried.

In the work, he was there; no before, no after, no name or life or past or future.  No questions, no answers.  Only this.

Fixing what was broken.

Coping Mechanisms - [Guest Quarters, Deck 6]

Once everything was finished with the repairs, and all had quieted down, Scotty had tagged along loosely with the... the... other Scott, the unknown element, building a little bit of a mental map of the impossible ship he was on, in an impossible time and an impossible universe. They didn't talk, aside occasional repair suggestions, and he acted as mostly a shadow and assistant. And then, after that, he was escorted to some guest quarters on Deck 6 and firmly told not to cause any more trouble.

And he listened, and obeyed.

( Read more... )

Gratitude - [Galley]

After a couple hours of being passed out on a desk, he woke up with a jerk, then winced at the ache in his neck. By now, he was too hungry to go and ignore it, and after a genuinely baleful look at the replicator, he figured that he had to find some source of food that wouldn't feel like a betrayal.

He rolled down the sleeves of the long t-shirt he'd borrowed off of the other Scott to cover up the bruises, did the best he could to finger-comb his hair into some semblance of neatness (not quite succeeding) and tried not to feel too messed up to move. He went to check for another list of repairs he could do, and found access blocked; letting out a quiet, disheartened sigh, he just decided to go with plan A.

The galley wasn't too hard to find. And it was busy. Really busy. He almost balked and left, but after a moment, someone came by and literally shoved a bowl of dough into his hands.

Scotty was a mean cook. Not nearly to his mother's level, mind, but he certainly wasn't a kitchen idiot. He'd been her sous chef enough times in a professional kitchen, those times when it wasn't too much of a hassle to take him along, that he knew his way around there about like he did machines. Cooking was just another form of engineering; put things together, make them work, try not to create any disasters, and he was a natural at it.

So, being conscripted briefly into the galley staff, working to prepare meals for an overcrowded starship, was not too bad a fate. He lost track of time there, too, though he sure didn't lose track of his stomach, which was probably trying to eat itself by now. And after he'd worked long enough that he felt he had earned his meal and two others besides, he stashed some aside to make dinner for himself. There was a broken stove in the back of the galley; he repaired it easily, washed up, then got to preparing food.

It wasn't a masterpiece or anything. Meat, potatoes, noodles and vegetables, all together in one casserole. A hearty meal, meant to fill the belly, and maybe provide some level of comfort, and it didn't take all that much of any one thing to make it. A good bit of the juices from the meat left in with a base. An appropriate amount of herbs and a little spice, just enough to throw a tiny bit of bite into it. Poor man's food, basically, but almost on the same level as comfort food.

He sized out a couple of plates and managed to use a third to bribe another of the staff of the galley to deliver them. One to Harold, one to the other Scott, each with a note that read the same thing: "Thanks for the help yesterday."

Then, with a fourth plate of the casserole set aside, he washed the dishes and put them away, then found one of the few quiet spots in the kitchen to sit down against the wall and eat.

Crashspace - [Guestquarters, Deck 6]

Scotty woke up in the galley, not too terribly surprised that Harold had left; he didn't figure the floor of a galley was all that comfortable a napping spot for most people anyway. But he was then chased out by some of the next watch of cooks, and had to do something with himself.

Reluctant as he was, he headed back for his assigned quarters. The nap had done him some good; it'd be probably a few days before he wasn't limping, but it didn't bother him, and his head was a little clearer. He grabbed a shower, eyeing the myriad black and blue and purple marks with clinical disinterest, then changed into a handy set of clothes and started getting his toolkit together.

Might not exactly have a repair list accessible anymore, but that didn't stop him from deciding to fix whatever he could see visible and in need of repair. He figured it was fair. And he had to earn his room and food, anyway.

He just didn't realize what else he'd be doing while out tonight, too.