Frayed Edges - [Risa]

[allmhadadh]

It is such a secret place, the land of tears.
-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince


He wasn't sure why it had all come down on him at once, like being sat down on by a giant, and he was never very forgiving of himself when he cracked like that under pressure; it made him feel like a child, like some helpless kid who couldn't stick up for himself and who didn't have the strength to bear up under things, either.  And as hard as he tried to prove to himself otherwise, those moments were often doubly miserable.  For the tears, and for the anger against the tears.

But eventually he managed to get himself back under control, feeling exhausted and hollowed out; that miserable wet feeling in his lungs, and his eyes stinging.  It was still far too early in the day, though, for him to just give into the notion of passing out for awhile.  The last time he'd slept properly was San Fran; here, there was too much on him, from all quarters, to feel comfortable enough to.  The snatches of naps helped, at least.  He wasn't hallucinating from fatigue.

He dragged himself off of the floor, staggered into the bathroom and washed his face with cold water.  Washed it any number of times, enough times that he forgot how many.  Then, more on auto-pilot than anything else, he took a shower, got dressed and buckled under to get something to eat out of that replicator thing.  Hopefully for the last time.  His stomach was a little upset, not made any better by his loathing of the device, but survival was survival.

His brain started kicking back into gear as he was gathering everything up that he'd need.  He was going to have to borrow the other Scott's toolkit, if he was to have any chance of actually making a living.  With any luck, some hard work and thought would allow him to get ahold of his own tools before the week was up and the Enterprise broke orbit.  If not, he would still return the kit -- he wasn't a thief, though he was willing to walk the line of one if it kept him alive.

He needed some space, or at least some space that felt less confining than this; needed to know he had room to run, if he had to run, wherever he would end up going.  He could face things better when he knew there was an escape route. If he had the option, at least then he could weigh the rest of it; if he had the choice, then he could more clearly make the right one without his instincts dragging him into the wilderness.

Still, in that numb and hollow space past tears, he could go back and tentatively touch on the conversation that provoked them without it being unbearable.  He couldn't quite grasp that the other Scott was actually... him.  Even with the common lines and common expressions.  Even with the obvious genetic similarities.  He believed it, mind; he believed it when he rarely took anything at face value.  But it was like a dry fact, not a reality.

It was also somehow strange to him that he was a little grateful that this other Scott had clearly gotten his head on straight, somehow.  He couldn't guess as to how, but this older man was mostly more confident and more certain, and definitely more cheerful.  Good cheer was something he only felt in rare occasions, and all of those, it seemed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  He doubted that was the case with this alternate him.  Whatever had gone differently had lead to a different man, and that wasn't a bad thing.

It still didn't change where he, himself was.

And that was nameless; out of time, and out of synch, and only certain of two things: His right to keep breathing and his ability to fight for that until he no longer was.




It wasn't too hard to get to Risa.  The technician from the Starbase, who had come aboard to help with repairs and man the Enterprise, didn't bother to do more than check his communicator code.  The communicator itself was a backup that had been in the toolkit, and was registered to the other Scott.  He didn't correct the tech's assumption that was who he was, and only a few seconds later, he was standing on the ground.

He had never been to Risa before.  For that matter, he hadn't even been off planet all that often.  Immediately, the heat and humidity slammed into him; reminded him of jungle-training in Basic, but with something else:  Here, he could smell an ocean.  And he had to hitch in a breath at the immediate sense of relief that hit him when he did.

The relief was two-fold: One, he had always lived within a few miles of salt-water, and two, where there was water, there were bound to be boats.  And he knew how to work on boats, both commercial and recreational powered vessels.  For that matter, he could find his way around anything with a motor.

Risa was a whole planet, not just one city.  There would be steady work somewhere in this big marble.  He was in the major urban center and setting-off point now; beamed down to the public transporter pad, about five city blocks from shore.  He walked that distance, rather wishing for a long-sleeved shirt again when people occasionally eyed the fading bruises, but no one stopped him and no one even spoke to him, and he was content with that.

It felt good to walk, and even after growing up in Aberdeen and not really liking hot weather, it felt good right now to have sunlight beating down on him.  He could feel that still wet, jagged sensation in his chest, but it faded to something tolerable under the warmth and light; he could feel the fatigue across his shoulders where most of his tension lived, and down his back, but walking was soothing.

There was a very long stretch of white-sand beach; above the beach were little bungalows from various resorts, and a handful of tourist type shops.  Down along one end, near out of his range of vision, looked like a highrise set of condos or apartments.  And down on the other end was what he was looking for; a large stretch of docks.

Taking a deep breath of salt-and-sunshine painted air, he headed in that direction.




Back on the Enterprise, he left a message to blink on the other Scott's PADD.  When he had left it, he knew he was making a mistake; he was opening a door to a world of hurt.  Not because he thought this alternate version of him, with the good cheer and seemingly-genuine concern, would actually hurt him intentionally and maliciously.  But because when it came to blood, and kin, it was nearly inevitable.  There were very few ways that he could look at his own upbringing and not flinch, and so he almost never did.  He loved his family, as fiercely as any son, and he still wanted to get as far away from them as he could.  He loved them, but if he was going to keep breathing, he couldn't stay.

That was why he'd gone into Basic.  Into Starfleet.  Because he knew that if he stayed, eventually something in him would die, something important, and from there you can never make it back.

Honestly, he more hoped the door wouldn't be walked through.  He wanted to find some way to thank the other one for the concern, and find a way to show that he was still breathing and mostly okay, as okay as anyone could be in this situation.  He wanted to dissolve whatever obligation the other thought was there -- he couldn't imagine for a moment that it wasn't a miserable inconvenience to have someone all but dropped on them like that.  He knew all about that kind of thing; he was all too used to being that inconvenience incarnate.

But he left the message anyway.

"I borrowed your toolkit, and I'll have it back to you by week's end.  I'll keep the backup communicator on me so that you can get ahold of me.  And I'll keep thinking about it."  And he attached the communicator's and borrowed PADD's unique codes to the message, then sent it.

He didn't sign it.

Comments

[original-fine.livejournal.com]

((OOC - Goodness, I really love cadet!Scott. You're amazing. If there's any plot Kirk can help with, let me know. I mean that goes for anyone, but still.))

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

[[OOC: Well, if Jim wants to go sailing on Risa, he's welcome to look in on the brat. ;-) He'll probably be more friendly, since he now has some space.]]

[original-fine.livejournal.com]

((OOC - I'll keep that in mind.))

[haroldlee.livejournal.com]

Harold had fled after his disaster with Ensign Spottacus, jogging in a random direction. Thank god she hadn't followed. He felt geniunely sorry about it, he did, but he just couldn't stomache it.

No idea where he was and not even sure the PADD in his back pocket would work off-ship if he did need help, he'd taken to wandering the tourist shops.

Turns out, asshole shopkeepers didn't like it very much if you manhandled their stuff but had no money.

Lost, angry and still actually wearing the rumpled clothes he'd slept in, he headed toward the waterfront.

He thought he might be going crazy when he caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd. He latched onto the thought, desperate for something familiar.

"--Scotty?"

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

Despite feeling like he had no particular right to it, the name still pulled him up in his walk towards the docks. He knew that voice, and looked around until he spotted a somewhat ragged-looking Harold; his expression softened a little, and he stepped back to the quieter edge of the boardwalk so the other fellow could catch up.

[haroldlee.livejournal.com]

"Jesus Christ, am I glad to see you, man."

Harold jogged to catch up, and the knot in his stomach unwound slightly. As much as he couldn't deal with Spottacus, he didn't actually want to be alone. He couldn't take a crying woman at the best of times.

Scotty was the furthest thing from a crying woman he could think of, and a friendly face to boot.

"I meant to thank you again."

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

"Will ye stop doin' that?" It wasn't a frustrated statement, more... somewhat good-natured exasperation. "Stop thankin' me." And he eyed the other man's somewhat disheveled appearance, eyebrows drawn a bit. "Ye a'right?"

[haroldlee.livejournal.com]

"Heh. Sorry."

It was a hell of a question. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking.

"Uh- The thing about me, dude, is that when shit happens to me, it's never-- one thing. It comes in waves," he laughed, shaking his head. "I'm used to it. I'll be okay. Thanks for asking, though."

He raised his eyebrows, taking in his friend. "What about you? What's all that for?" he asked, gesturing at items Scotty held.

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

Waves. That was a good way of putting it. He just grinned a little wryly at being thanked again, then looked down at the toolkit he was carrying and at the bundle of clothes under one arm. "Work. Gonna see 'bout earnin' some credits down on the docks; maybe enough for dinner, an' if I get some good tippers and dinna get thrown behind bars for workin' without papers, enough for a place to sleep t'night."

Under the Table, Over the Water

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

It was a decent hike down to the docks. Towards the back was a mechanics shack, likely meant to be there for anyone having boat trouble to go and knock. Scotty intentionally placed himself a good bit of distance from that, and out on the docks way out into the water, to catch people before that happened.

Most of the boats were fairly classical in design; hydrogen-based motors, but deep-V hulls. A few sailing vessels, and a few anti-grav vessels filled out the rest. There were plenty of people around, and that made it easier to blend in. Scotty just sat down on the edge of a dock, feet hanging over the side, and kept one ear out for anyone cursing or a motor that wasn't running quite right.

As he did, he searched through the hostel listings on Risa through the PADD. A neat little machine, that was, though he would have preferred not having it trackable. Still, access to the planet-wide tourist services was a necessity right now, and he had opened a door earlier, so he left it traceable.

There were a few decent hostels cheap. He noted them down, then set the PADD aside and just waited, looking at the small, easy waves in the sea-green harbor. Below, green plants waved out of the white sand. It must have been a bit what paradise would have looked like, at least if one liked the tropics, had man not gone and mucked it up.

For an engineer, he had a certain fierce quandary when it came to nature: For as much as he loved machines and mechanics, he understood the natural order, too. And being something he understood, he appreciated it.

But it was beautiful here, especially after being on an unknown ship, feeling trapped and harried like that. It felt open and he felt like he could disappear if he chose, and he probably could. That knowledge felt good.

Re: Under the Table, Over the Water

[haroldlee.livejournal.com]

Harold gave only passing thought to what Hikaru must have been doing at that moment.

The part of him in love hoped he was happy. That Pavel was taking care of him.

The part of Harold that was alone hated them both for having the other. It just wasn't fair.

Glancing at Scotty, Harold hoped the other man hadn't noticed his sniff. He wanted to bury it all for a while, bolstered by the tentative partnership of someone he was coming to think of as a friend.

People passing had thus far mostly ignored the pair, and Harold thought he could live without the evening's drinking if he had to; this was peaceful enough.

Re: Under the Table, Over the Water

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

He noticed; he didn't miss much. He was a sensory critter; he lived and breathed all five, and always had, and it could be both overwhelming and comforting, depending on the situation. So, when Harold sniffed, he slid a sidelong look over.

Regardless, he didn't ask. Just looked back down into the water, still keeping an ear out for the sounds of a mechanic needed. "Far... I mean, where are ye from? Before all o' this."

Re: Under the Table, Over the Water

[haroldlee.livejournal.com]

Head snapping up at the question, Harold had to give a moment's pause, looking into the water and fiddling with the hem of his shirt.


"Nowhere," he stated simply. It wasn't an answer, he knew, so he tried again, in a lighter tone. "Well, New Jersey. 2009. Which is fucking- nowhere. Nowhen."

He tugged at a loose thread and watched it unravel, detaching the hem. It was Hikaru's old shirt.

"What about you? I know neither of us got on that ship by exactly conventional means, man, but I kinda forgot to ask. Sorry."

Re: Under the Table, Over the Water

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

New Jersey; east coast North America. He'd never been there, though; aside Maryland and California, and various other places for training, he hadn't seen much of the continent.

"Aberdeen, Scotland, originally. San Fran, most recently." He gestured to the shirt, half-absently. "Ye wanna borrow mine? The spare? It's clean."

Re: Under the Table, Over the Water

[haroldlee.livejournal.com]

He yanked the shirt into a knot between his fingers, as if to snatch it back.

"No," he replied emphatically. "Um, sorry- I didn't mean to- Thanks a million, really, but no. If you-- understand."

The shirt was emblazoned with a faded Starfleet Academy logo. He knew how pathetically obvious he must be. Dirty and rumpled though it was, he just- couldn't, yet.

Late Afternoon

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

They hung around in the water for awhile, sloughing off for the time the heaviness of the universe in favor of just enjoying it. It was a good time, too; Scotty swam around the edges of the docks, not getting too far from his tools and such, but loosened up long enough to follow some neat little silvery fishes around for awhile, kind of fascinated by the way the all moved together.

But after that, when the idea of food finally invaded his mind again, he pulled himself up onto the docks and laid there like a dead man for a good twenty minutes, almost asleep in the sun. It was only that aforementioned cursing and boat trouble that made him move; he shook off the drowsiness, gave Harold a 'follow my lead' and went to do some work.

He managed to convince the boater that he and Harold were just on leave and moonlighting mechanics.

Scotty also got a bit of a shock: He didn't realize how... liberated Risa was. So, when he had Harold got propositioned, it sent his eyebrows right up under his bangs, and he was so taken aback and surprised that he managed to embarrass the living Hell out of the boater, who apparently had forgotten that not every single person on Risa was available for the asking.

It worked in his favor; both the mumbled apology and the decent tip he got on top of the payment (where he undercut the local mechanics) were products of that embarrassment. And if he was a little baffled by being hit on like that, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He taught Harold where he could, though they had to work fast. Explained how the motor worked, and what was what, and how to diagnose what was wrong with it by troubleshooting. Small stuff, but always handy.

By the time the late afternoon wore on, they'd done three quick repair jobs, garnered payment and decent tips, and it was time to start considering food.

"So... where d'ye wanna eat?"

Re: Late Afternoon

[haroldlee.livejournal.com]

He thought back to the alcohol Spottacus had promised him; it seemed like so long ago.

He didn't need to drown himself anymore, but he still wanted to be pleasantly buzzed.

Eyebrows raised hopefully, he ventured: "Bar food?"

Re: Late Afternoon

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

"Sure." He wouldn't be picky. Long as they had enough credits, he was happy for the moment. He quickly counted the chips out, damp shirt slung over a shoulder, boots tied and likewise, socks rolled up and stuff into them. "We've got about thirty credits, all told, an' I dinna know the current value. But I'm guessin' it's enough for food."

Re: Late Afternoon

[haroldlee.livejournal.com]

Food. Food was good. The day had actually made him hungry properly, the grief in him no longer threatening to reject whatever he ate.

He stopped collecting his things long enough to give Scotty a sidelong look. "I know you hate it, man, but - thanks. I still- um, you know. But this. This was - really, really good."

Re: Late Afternoon

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

"Ye're right, I do hate it." He slid over a side-long grin, though, which was a way to accept it nicely without softening his 'stop thanking me' stance. "What kind o' bar food are we lookin' for?"

Enter the Spot

[ensgn-spottacus.livejournal.com]

Spottacus walked into the bar. She looked lost. Scanning the room, she spotted the two men. Walking over, she sat down next to Scotty and poked him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Scotty. Long time no see."

Re: Enter the Spot

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

He jumped a little in surprise, but shook it off when he recognized the lass who'd helped him ditch security on the Enterprise... what seemed like a lifetime ago, now. And he offered a bit of a sheepish grin back. "Aye... I'm afraid I've forgotten yer name, though, lass." A wince. "Sorry. How's the wrist?"

Re: Enter the Spot

[haroldlee.livejournal.com]

Harold winced, resting his jaw on his fist. This was not a reunion he relished. He waved at her, his look apologetic.

Re: Enter the Spot

[ensgn-spottacus.livejournal.com]

She looked at Scotty. "Not sure I ever told you it," Spottacus grinned. "I'm Ensign Meira Spottacus."

She held up her wrist. "Almost completely healed. Still twinges a bit if I bump it but it's fine."

She glanced over at Harold. She felt bad for breaking down when she was supposed to be helping him. "Sorry about earlier, Harold. I shouldn't have dumped all that on you."

Re: Enter the Spot

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

Pretty name; he wasn't sure where it was from. But he gestured to the stool next to him, offering over the menu. "Let me buy ye dinner t' make up fer it?" Mind, romance didn't even cross his mind -- generally, it rarely did, unless he was specifically looking for it -- but he sure was a gentleman.