#naomh

21: “me & me”

It’s a chilly afternoon at the circus, with most performers and customers scurrying away into the relative warmth of tents and caravans and trailers. As the wind picks up, Scotty misses his trusty hat. He is in a near-constant state of missing, as though the piercing instrument was never removed from some stab wound within him. He’s cold, too, which is kind of funny if you have a great sense of humour like he does. He wonders if Matei would think it was funny if he brought it up. Jeez, you know, I’ve frozen to death in an avalanche before, and this wind is somehow worse. Or, boy, I miss when my body couldn’t feel sensation.

Then he wonders the obvious, and flails, turning to the man beside him. “You cold? Want my jacket?”

Matei gives him A Look. Back in the time that never happened, Scotty would have been able to understand every twitch of the man’s eyebrow. He doesn’t know this Matei, and apparently he’s not making a great impression— seeing as he’s been reduced to speaking like a caveman.

“I’m okay,” Matei tells him, perfectly neutral and gracious. He has a sweater on, of course. Maybe it belongs to his new-old boyfriend. That pierces him too, although Scotty has long taught himself how to cope with an aching heart.

The other interns have all been whisked away to separate locations with separate objectives. Once upon a time, in another time, they moved like Voltron. Scotty would have known where they were even without Corby’s telepathy or Dorothea’s briefings. He could have made correct assumptions about which stall Sammy ducked into, or where Hami and Avery might be found sneaking around. Now, he can’t rely on any innate knowledge, turning to modern technology instead:

[sent] Where did everyone run off to?

[sent] ❄️☃️🎿☕️🥶😰

He looks up from the text to see Matei smiling oddly at him. Again, this expression is new; it bowls Scotty over. “What,” he says, tone soft, smiling back almost instinctively.

“Oh, uh,” Matei’s smile drops and he glances away. “Nothing. You… Nothing.”

He wonders if Matei thinks he’s texting a boyfriend or something. “Just sending a text to the other interns,” Scotty quickly corrects the thought. He used to have charisma, he swears— it dissipated sometime between the early eighties and ancient Mesopotamia and the current day. “I don’t… I’m not seeing anyone.”

For some reason, Matei smiles again— a little amusement playing at his pretty lips. “Okay,” he says, with poorly hidden pity.

“It is okay. I need some time to focus on me,” he lies through his teeth. Matei’s nod is half-hearted but his gaze is sharp. “You know, after everything.”

It looks like Matei is about to ask about everything. Scotty could tell him— he would, if he asked. About the guitar they kept in the living room, how far they’d made it through their watch of The Original Series. About Gideon, too, and Thor, maybe, and the long list of almosts and nevers.

Scotty’s phone chimes loudly in his hand— a message from one of the other interns. He may not be technically fifty anymore, but old habits die hard. Matei steps back, almost startled— the moment shatters. Scotty’s pain receptors need recalibration, because Matei moving away hurts worse than fighting the devil had.

“Maybe you should,” starts Matei, as Scotty says, “Boy, it’s cold. I sure miss when my body couldn’t feel sensation.”

LÀ CHALUIM CHILLE

[St Columba's Day]

'S e Là Chaluim Chille a th' ann an-diugh.

Faidhle-Fuaime le Learn Gaelic: http://bit.ly/2WrxPLE

LATHA FHÈILL PÀDRAIG

[Saint Patrick’s Day]

’S e Latha Fhèill Pàdraig a th’ ann an-diugh.

🎧 Fuaim le Learn Gaelic: http://bit.ly/2mDDgGd