Chapter Text
Chapter 6:
Friday, April 14th, 2243
Pier 44
Belfast, Ireland, Earth
The sun came up with the sort of color that could never be duplicated in photos, holos or paintings. It glinted first off of the clouds that wisped along the horizon, starting off in dull, washed out colors before climbing in intensity to a bright, scalding red. It was breathtaking to see the sky like that, so vivid it seemed it could burn.
Scotty had given into common sense at some point, sneaking into the dorms to retrieve his civilian coat, and couldn’t summon up much more than the opposing feelings of relief and sorrow at Cor’s bed being empty. He probably could have stayed in, but anxiety sent him back out and he ended up sitting across from the Queen’s Quay to watch the sky come back to light.
The sunrise at least got him out of the looping tracks his mind was running and provided a distraction from the clawed-open feeling in his chest.
Finally dragging himself away from the bench, he stretched, painted orange in the light and stiff and sore from the night outside. It was one thing to be working all night, and another thing to be sitting idle; old lessons he knew, and yet still he’d stayed out. Shaking his head at himself, he started back for the campus.
Barrett intercepted him halfway. One look at the professor's face was enough to let Scotty know he was in for it; still, before he had a chance to start to explain, Barrett confirmed that instinct. "I don't know exactly what career-destructive tendencies have overcome you this time, but generally," he said, spitting the word 'generally' out, "it's a good idea to at least check in before you decide to spend a night AWOL."
Not able to think of a quick enough reply, Scotty stood at attention before he even realized he had adopted that stance.
"Do you even know what time it is?" Barrett asked, an edge on his voice that bordered downright icy.
Perturbed, Scotty really did try to find an answer. He racked his tired mind trying to count the hours or remember when about the sun was supposed to rise this time of year, but that didn't help. Finally, weakly, he settled on, "I'm not sure, sir."
"Not sure." Shaking his head, the anger just seemed to vanish from Barrett, replaced by disappointment. "Security's looking for you. It's one thing to be a few hours late, but when you don't even make an attempt to check in for an entire night, that's bordering on downright foolish."
"Aye, sir." Trying his hardest not to cringe, Scotty bit on his lip. He really was in for it, not only from Barrett, but from the security division on campus. Technically, they really could have called him AWOL. A very quick and damaging blow to his career.
The commander didn't say anything for a moment or two, just studied his student's face, as if trying to understand what would warrant this sort of behavior. Finally he continued, though, more gently than before, "You're already late for your first class. If I were you, I would do my best to be on time for the next one."
"Aye, sir," Scotty answered, dutifully, and started at a jog for the dorms. Barrett's voice stopped him a few paces later, though.
"Did you find it?"
Scotty's eyebrows drew together. "Sir?"
"Whatever you were looking for," Barrett said, with an eerie certainty, like he knew exactly what it was tearing up Scotty's mindset so badly. "Did you?"
Scotty frowned, replying honestly, "Not yet, sir. I'm still workin' on it." Waiting for the nod of acknowledgment, he turned back and jogged away before he could be dissected any further.
It didn't end with Barrett, though, and Scotty didn't expect it to. Security made sure to take a piece out of his hide as well, though they didn't end up calling him AWOL. The reprimand that would be in his permanent Starfleet record was enough -- any time he came up for promotion, he was sure that someone would look at it and hesitate. Even if he never committed another breach of protocol, they would still notice that one.
Bureaucracy. One of the miserable constants in the universe.
He managed to get back to the dorms in decent time, rush through a shower and with his hair still wet and the horrible feeling that the day would only go downhill, he almost missed the final chime to get into Pearson's class. Skidding through the doors right as it rang, he was greeted with the Captain's full unhappiness.
"Nice of you to join us, Mister Scott," Pearson said, coolly, bringing the attention of the entire class down on the still-panting cadet. "I wasn't sure if you were going to grace us with your presence today."
Sean Kelley snickered, loud enough to carry, and Scotty raked him with a brutal glance before looking back at Pearson and adopting a more appropriate expression. "I'm sorry, sir."
"Well, take a seat. Advanced warp physics waits for no individual."
"Aye, sir," Scotty answered, keeping the relief from his voice only by force of will. Darting up the steps, he picked the furthest possible seat from the front, fell into the chair with the grace of a dying animal, and tried to get his thoughts in proper order.
After an entire night of being almost insane with confusion, his mind resisted any attempts at being organized. It was another thing to add to the list of things going wrong so far. Once, a very long time ago it seemed, he had loved this class. Now it was a pit from hell, and he sure was coming close to falling in.
Forget the class, life itself was rapidly becoming a sick rendition of Dante's Inferno. Shaking his head at the thought, Scotty just did his best not to look too conspicuous. He wasn't in any sort of state to answer questions, take notes, do anything besides try damn hard not to lose his mind and fall to pieces.
And --that was when Pearson decided to remind him and the rest of the class that they had an exam.
Forget renditions, Scotty thought, taking the paper as it was passed back to him. It was hell, custom tailored. Scowling at the paper and wishing he'd at least put forth some real effort to study the night before rather than sit melancholy on a bench by the river, he figured he could guess about half of them. Jansson had grilled him pretty well on what they were supposed to be tested on, but that was already a distant memory.
He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed at them, trying to breathe off the weight in his chest and the sensation of his heart running away on him; thought about Cor showing up with a truly geriatric bottle of Scotch only a few months ago, a bribe or apology, and just that was enough to make him want to walk out of the lecture theater and find somewhere to have a breakdown in peace.
But he finally managed to get his head back to where it was supposed to be, giving his full attention to the paper. It wasn't easy to call on the engineering talent that had served him so well all the way up to now; instead, it seemed like it was hiding from the current state he was in just like he wished he could. Normally he could find his way blindfolded around the facts, theories, practicalities and applications of engineering, and now he was struggling just to get through a one sheet examination.
One sheet of paper, nothing to be afraid of.
Smirking in a slightly unbalanced manner, Scotty read it over once, read it over twice, and made an effort to answer the questions. The bargain he had made with Barrett kept him from just guessing his way through, normally a tactic he only used when he wanted to go and read up on a journal or troop through a schematic, and now a tactic he was tempted to use just to get it over with.
Still, once he actually focused enough, it wasn't hard. Most of the quizzing he had gotten the night before filtered back in a subconscious manner, presenting itself automatically. It was about the only bright point in the day so far.
He already had a feeling it would remain so, too.
He'd been relieved to go back to the slip by the end of that day. Even after the revelations of the night before, it was still the most comfortable place he could find within walking distance. The rain had started again, ruling out the pier; his room was just too damn unhappy even without Corry--
That just left the shipyards and the Lady Grey.
The ships that men have sailed upon were often referenced throughout history. They captured the romantics, the semantics, the dreams and ambitions of human beings from the first time that a person set afloat a piece of wood and discovered that they could take to the water, become creatures of the ocean even if they could never really be a physical part of it. It was enough for them to be a spiritual part of the sea.
The ships had changed; became faster, better equipped, more capable of surviving a full gale. They'd evolved like the human race had, and even by that point, in the middle of the twenty-third century, they had not lost their ability to grab hold of a human heart. Humankind had moved into space, taking their love of their vessels with them, sailed the stars like they had the oceans, and it could never be said that there wasn't a bond between a ship and those who were aboard her.
The ocean wasn't finished with humankind just yet, though.
Scotty didn't think of romanticism. He didn't contemplate the great evolution from the raft to the boat to the ship to the starship, nor did he pay a great deal of attention to how spiritual it all was. All he really did understand was that there was something there, something amazing, that wasn't explainable.
He was too tired, too close to losing it to understand much else. Ever a glutton for punishment, he'd worked from when classes ended to now. All evening, though, he hadn't once dared cross her bow, not sure he could take really seeing her again, and all the things she represented as she stood there. To him. To Cor, maybe.
Now, though, right before curfew and alone with the Lady Grey, he found himself back in front of her. It was almost like his feet had moved for themselves and before he knew it, he was there again, reminded again of everything he didn't want to be reminded of.
Was it really that long ago that he had hated her? Honestly?
And now she was one of the few things he could depend on. He had tried all day to understand why he had allowed this to happen; why he'd allowed himself to care. Why he even cared in the first place, beyond the wish to finish her for Corry.
Where exactly the transition had taken place was hard to say -- it was more of a progression than anything. It was every nail that he'd hammered in himself, every inch he'd sanded, every late night spent working until his hands bled from it. It was a simple equation, really; the more that he put of himself into her, the more she gave back until they really weren't so much two separate entities, just some measure of parts of one another. It had just taken him until last night to admit it.
Stepping forward, Scotty leaned his forehead against the wood, eyes closed. The sturdiness of the schooner, no matter how incomplete she was, was reassuring. She was solid; a structure he could lean on, carry his weight because right then, he wasn't sure he had the strength or the courage to do it himself. The whole day had been hard, from one problem to the next to the next, to go with the weeks that had been hard before it, and at least here he had something to lean against so that he could take a moment to breathe.
If only she had the answers, he would be all right. But she couldn't tell him what to do; even if she could, he didn't think he could do more than just stand there, leaning on her as though she were the only thing between him and whatever darkness waited beyond them both.
"I think ye might be the only friend I've got left," Scotty said, a sad echo chasing his voice that seemed even more desolate in the dark slip. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, to get enough strength to stand on his own again, he let the schooner go.
He didn't look back when he walked out. If he had, he was sure it would have snapped him in two.
He chose to walk back to the dorms, rather than catch the shuttle. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually taken the easy route back, but it hadn't been within the last couple of months. Before, the notion of walking out in the rain when there was an easy alternative was best left to fools, romantics and people itching to catch a chill; now he found it gave him a chance to think on his own without the direct influences of anyone else.
Not that anyone had ever been able to influence Scotty's way of thinking. Maybe his life, maybe his career, but not how he thought, not how he dealt with things. He’d fought his heart right out to protect that.
But now suddenly they could and it was eating at him with the persistence of a hungry lion; somehow, these people were able to disrupt his perfect formula, this balance he'd achieved between life and work, work and life until they were both the same thing. They could get to him without even being there.
Like Barrett, and the moral that was supposed to make it all make sense. The nature of wind, which tickled at the back of the Scotty's mind almost constantly, and which he still didn't get. Logic said that it had something to do with destiny and the winds of fate; what else could it be, with a reference like that? But his heart was telling him otherwise, telling him very much against his will that this could be something more important than a simple end-of-the-story moral that went right along with the 'happily ever after' line.
So he thought about it, tried to understand it like he understood how to repair a piece of equipment. It resisted being figured out, though, just like he resisted being figured out, and just like Corry's motives for the career switch resisted being figured out.
In that sense, maybe Scotty did understand.
But he still wasn't ready to give up on Cor, even though it seemed more hopeless by the day. Story morals could wait, but friends could only wait so long before they became complete strangers. Oh, sure, you could sit down and chew over old times with a cup of coffee or a shot of Scotch, but that was it. There was nothing more to it besides the sad ruminations of what could have been and should have been if it hadn't all gone so bloody wrong.
Stepping into the gate and nodding to Security, he did his best to mentally prepare himself for the idea that Corry might be there when he walked in, and that he might be called on to converse in a manner that wouldn't be blatantly picking a fight.
He didn't want a fight, no, but-- he knew that everything he wanted to say would get him one.
The walk up the steps and down the hall had to be what it was like walking to a gallows; it went too quickly and he was still woefully unprepared. He stared for a long moment at the door, dread expanding in his chest, then finally managed to force himself to turn the knob and step in.
And any ideas of conversation instantly gave way to having that dread realized.
Corry glanced up from his dresser, offering a half-smile of greeting. "Evening."
His bags were packed-- literally. They sat beside his bunk, which was made and squared away with the Starfleet issue blanket rather than the blue wool blanket he usually had on it. The bookshelves were cleared off, pictures and posters had been taken down, the computer tapes were put away-- it was almost like walking into someone else's room.
Scotty froze, putting it all together in his mind frantically. "Leavin'...?"
"Yep!" Cor finished shoving his knickknacks from the dresser top into his carryon. "I'm outbound at midnight for Baltimore."
"Why...?"
Corry raised an eyebrow, looking at his roommate through the mirror. "Because my transfer came through?"
Blinking a few times, still almost out of the door, Scotty looked between the bags, the dresser and the mirror again, scrambling to just-- he was just-- and he had been so sure that the transfer wouldn't have come through until after he had a chance to finish the Lady Grey, and maybe sabotage Corry's career change using her, but--
Now-- now every bit of work he'd put into her had been for nothing. Corry was really going to do it. He was really going to leave, all smiles and joyous celebration at something that could be the biggest mistake of his life.
God.
"Ye're makin' a mistake," Scotty said, with a certainty that harbored no hesitation, panic gnawing a hole under his breastbone. He didn't have anything left now but words; if Corry was just going to walk away-- "I think this'll be the biggest mistake ye’ll ever make."
"Yeah, you and everyone else." Corry shrugged, nonchalantly. "This is what I want, though. At least wish me good luck."
"No."
"No?" Cor paused in his packing, turning to look at him, looking halfway between surprised and irritated. "Whaddyou mean, no?"
Now or never, Scotty told himself, shoulders set in defiance of this, life and everything else, even with his guts twisting and his heart pounding. "I'm not gonna wish ye luck on screwin' yer life up."
Corry's eyebrows drew together, and he crossed his arms, no less defiantly. "Who says I'm screwing my life up? How do you know that this isn't the best thing for me?"
"'Cause I know you," Scotty answered, desperately, finally giving voice to at least some of what he had been wanting to say for the past months. "I know ye love yer father, and ye're scared tae death o’ losin' him, an' I know ye dinna wanna go intae space, an' that ye somehow think this is gonna make all of it all right, but Cor, it's not. There's no runnin' from what's chasin' you!"
"That's the problem with you." Corry shook his head, but he was obviously stung by the words. "You don't have faith in anything, do you? You don't trust me to make a decision like this."
"No, I don't," Scotty said, bluntly, before he realized how that probably sounded and winced. “I mean--”
Corry’s jaw knotted briefly, then his lip curled. "Gee, thanks. Nice to know that you really care that much, so much that you're willing to be around just long enough to tell me I'm a hopeless screw up."
"I didna say that!” It took Scotty just about every last bit of his willpower to keep from burying his fists in his own hair. “I'm sayin' that ye're about tae walk out o' here, an' dammit, I know ye'll regret it!"
"How?" Patience wearing thin, see-through thin, both of Corry's eyebrows went up at the challenge. "Are you gonna tell me that you're able to see into the future, too?"
"No! But what'll happen when ye go through all o’ this, an' give up four years-- count 'em, four years o’ yer life, just on a maybe?" Unable to stop himself, Scotty launched into an imitation of Corry he knew very well was going to hit close to home, "'Well, cripes, my Dad's okay and now I'm a lieutenant and it only took me until I was thirty-five, but that's all fine because now I'm out here charting bacteria that floats around on solar currents trillions of klicks from home on this ass-backwards little ship. Life's wonderful!'"
Cor’s face slowly went red, and Scotty knew before he was even finished that if he hadn’t just crossed a line, then he’d gotten far too close.
"Exactly when did you start to give a damn?" Corry finally asked, deadly calm, but with his fists still clenched at his sides. "Since when did you start to give a damn about me, anyway, about anything other than being an engineer on the Constitution?"
Caught off guard, Scotty scrambled for a moment before answering, "I-- I don't know, I just--" And he didn't know. There was just some point, over the months, that he decided that Corry was worth it. Worth caring about. Worth trusting. Even worth dying for.
"Right. And that," Cor snapped, sharply, "is because you don't. Well, I'm sorry if I care about more than machines! I'm sorry if I give a damn about something besides a starship or some idiotic class project!"
"The Grey's more'n a project!" Scotty shot back, clenching his own fists, if only to try to stop his hands shaking.
Corry didn't even hesitate. "It's a pile of wood! You said it yourself, she's a waste of time, completely foolish! What, you're going to tell me that you care about her now? No, you don't. Christ, I wouldn't be surprised if you were some kind of machine on the inside, because I sure don't see someone made of flesh and blood writing off as much as you do. What if it was your Dad, huh?"
"I'm not writin' anything off!"
"You wrote me off," Corry said, his voice low and cold. "All I wanted was-- but no, you know what? That's fine. It goes both ways. I'm glad I'm getting out of here-- it's sure better than listening to you pretend like you actually give a good goddamn."
Trying to get back up off the ropes, Scotty let the silence hang for a long moment as he tried to grab words and form them into sentences, or offer a rebuttal, or--
Or even breathe. "Is-- is that what ye think?" he finally managed to ask, reeling.
"Oh yes," Corry whipped back. He picked up the model of the ship and tossed to the floor between them. He didn't look down, just kept his gaze leveled on Scotty, who met it through a tunnel. "If this is all you claim to care about in your life, then god help anyone who thinks they might have a shot in the dark at being your friend."
It landed like a knife, just that exact pain, carried in the sound of something wooden breaking; landed sharp and sliced his breath down to nothing.
Scotty stared back for a moment, head spinning; took in the anger and the dismissal written on his best friend’s face, the look of someone who was just done with him, who was sick of him, and--
He had one hand halfway up. He didn’t know why. He dropped it and staggered around and made his way back out blindly, everything from his throat to his middle seized; made his way down a landing before he could manage to get even half a breath in, fought for through his teeth, and he was scrambling out the basement window before he could get a whole one, even serrated.
By the time he stumbled to folded against the other side of the outside fence, back against brick and limbs trembling, he couldn’t see for the tears and was doubled over with his fists in his hair, crying almost too hard to breathe, let alone think.
Just another broken cry out of no, thrown out against the universe for some twist of injustice, embodied, and not for the first time. Nor would it be the last.
The universe didn’t answer. But then, it never did.