I don't know what this is. The idea came from a conversation with the wonderful RebelPaisley and us bemoaning the fact that Scott/Flynn are so cute together but never seem to get much love from the fan writers. I wanted to redress that and this... This is short and drabble-y and I don't know what it's meant to be but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
~the real vampire~
One Day we'll see the Stars Again
Stars.
Balls of gas burning millions of miles away; their light travelling across the eons of empty space to shine brightly in the night sky, hundreds of thousands of glowing pinpricks swirling and dancing on a black canvas.
For as long as humans have existed, people have gazed up at the stars, navigated by them and made pictures from them. From ancient cultures with their legends of gods and goddesses, of creation and death and mythical battles, to two little boys lying in their garden, making up their own stories of Orion the Hunter, his dog-star Sirius, and the great dragon Draco.
It seems such a long time ago now; a different time, a different place, a different world. Their world, untouched by the realities of war and untroubled by the future. And those two little boys dreamt dreams of grand deeds and glory, never guessing how their lives would pan out, and how they would see their whole world change around them. Never knowing that only one would survive to see the shadow cover the earth, to see humanity reduced to a single, fragile city; to see evil win.
It's the stars that Scott misses the most.
Oh the night sky in Corinth is dotted with them, the constellations all in their right places, a near perfect replica. For that's all the sky is now; a replica of what it once was. A man-made creation. A forgery. Venjix blacked out the stars when his machines took over the earth, and all that remains are the pretty pictures projected onto the inside of the dome at night. Always the same stars, never moving or changing with the seasons, just sterile while lights.
Sterile… that word describes most of Corinth. The trees, the grass, the sky, even the air and the rain, the storms and the sunshine. All false; man-made and manufactured. Carefully controlled; every detail considered and planned out leaving no room for spontaneity or naturalness. No room for life.
It had rained earlier; a shower designed to replicate Spring and water the parks and gardens. But as real as it may have felt, it wasn't. It's not so much in what happened, but in what didn't, that reveals the forgery. The temperature remains steady; no coolness once the rain has gone, no dew-drenched grass as it dries swiftly in the warm, no scent of petrichor hanging in the air. There's no subtle change in pressure, no fresh breeze or slow, languid build-up of heat again. Everything just returns to normal, as if the rain had never fallen at all. And the City reverts to its default state; bland, passive, and sterile.
Looking out over the slumbering city, deceptively peaceful in the pale light of the artificial moon, Scott feels an irrational hatred of this place he's meant to call home bubble up in his stomach. Corinth may be humanity's salvation, but it's also its prison. And while inside the dome they're safe from Venjix, it feels like it's merely an abeyance; like their lives are on hold, like the human race itself is on hold, waiting…
The silence of the rooftop is suddenly broken by the clanging of the metal door and Scott hears movement behind him, the footsteps quiet but familiar as they make their way over to where Corinth City's Ranger Operator Series Red is leaning against the wall.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Scott turns to find himself staring into a pair of sparkling blue eyes and there's a not-unpleasant twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach. He can't help the smile that steals onto his face at the other's approach.
"Couldn't sleep," he says by way of explanation. "I didn't want to wake you by tossing and turning."
Flynn's laugh is soft and musical. "Twas the cold spot in ma bed that woke me." The laughter fades as the blond studies his lover. "What are you thinking?"
"How much I miss the stars." Scott answers him honestly, and then waits for the inevitable, joking response.
It doesn't come.
Instead Flynn watches him carefully for a long moment, then takes his hand and draws him away from the wall, dropping down onto the floor so Scott is sitting between his legs, leaning back into him, two strong arms wrapping around the darker man and holding him close, strong and gentle all at once. Scott allows his head to drop back onto Flynn's chest to tuck beneath the other man's chin, a feeling of comfort and rightness flowing around him.
"My dad use tae take me star gazing when I was a wee lad," Flynn finally breaks the silence. "Out in the glens… you've never seen darkness so black. You cannae see your hand in front of your face. But the stars… hundreds an' hundreds of them/'em. Every time you blinked more would appear."
The night air is neither hot nor cold, rather a placid, carefully controlled in-between sort of temperature as it always is in Corinth, but despite that Scott shivers as warm breath tickles his ear. One of the blue ranger's arms tightens around him, the other sneaking up to play with his hair.
"Dad use tae say we was staring into the past. That the light from the stars took so long tae reach us that we were seeing thousands of years ago."
Flynn's deep Scottish lilt is soothing and Scott relaxes back against him, enjoying the feeling of strong fingers stroking his hair and Flynn's warmth surrounding him.
"An' the stars we see might nae be there anymore. We're just seeing their light now, last embers of dead stars."
A tingle runs up Scott's spine at that; Flynn's words painting vivid pictures in his mind. The strange melancholy he'd felt earlier returns and he lets out a sigh. As if sensing the shift in his lover's mood, Flynn falls silent and Scott feels his hand falter in its stroking. The darker man can read uncertainty and concern – that he'd said too much, or not enough – in his partner, and he's struck by a sudden urge to reassure him.
Reaching around, he takes Flynn's hand in his and brings it to his lips. "Marcus and I used to lie in our garden for hours," he confesses, allowing his mind to wander back to those halcyon days where he had no responsibility and no sorrow. "Our parents would hold these parties and no one ever missed us. We'd creep outside in our pyjamas and bare feet, right down to the bottom where it was dark and we'd lie on the grass and just watch the stars. Our Grandma'd given us this book of old myths and legends and we'd take it in turns to tell stories from it. I always liked the Native American ones, about Bears and Hunters and Winds. But Marcus got bored eventually and came up with his own stories about the stars. Dad was teaching him how to use them to navigate but, back then, he preferred telling tales with them instead." Scott can't help the flicker of grief that colours his tone as he whispers, "He used to make up the best stories."
Scott can still hear his brother's voice, floating across the still night air to him. The smell of fresh grass and damp soil, the faint strains of music and laughter drifting from the house where their parents were entertaining guests, the cold slowly and inevitably working its way up from the ground to chill him… All gone now. The house, the garden, his brother…
"Venjix even took the stars from me."
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Scott realises how childish, how selfish he sounds, but by the comforting squeeze of his hand he knows Flynn understands.
Silence falls then; a deep, impenetrable silence, unbroken by neither nature nor man. At this time of night, with the curfew in place, the streets are empty, haunted only by law-enforcers, criminals and those brave (or foolish) enough to risk a military patrol's wrath. As for nature, the only bird life that was beneath the dome when it was raised were the pigeons, flying city-rats that have thrived with so few predators and are now are safely ensconced on night-time perches and nests.
"The stars are still there." Flynn's voice jolts Scott from his meandering thoughts. "An' one day, when Venjix is defeated, we'll see them again."
Scott wants to believe him. With all his heart he wants to believe that things will be ok, that one day he'll lie on damp grass and look up to see the stars blazing across the open sky once again.
But he can't.
He's a soldier, not a dreamer. He sees the world as it is, not how he wishes it was or could be. He sees reality.
And reality for him is war. It's battling Venjix, fighting and struggling against a foe far greater than himself. Far stronger than his team.
His team…
His lover…
His family…
His reality is his father's disapproval; from his job to his car to his actions… now to his choice of life partner. Nothing he's done so far made Colonel Trueman proud of him and then to fall in love with a teammate…
Maybe if it had been Summer there might have been some forgiveness, but as it is, Scott is abhorrent in his father's eyes and that is real. That is his life.
His reality is Dr. K yelling at him and constant training, constantly striving to improve, to get better. To get faster and stronger and to work better with his teammates. It's being the leader, being the one in charge, the one responsible for everyone else's lives. For Flynn's life. It's being constantly on edge. It's fear and worry and danger and Venjix; all-powerful, all-encompassing Venjix.
They can't hope to beat it, to win; they can only fight to maintain. To endure. The dark pit of despair opens up beneath him, waiting for him to take that last step into its black embrace.
At that moment Flynn's arms draw him around, turning his body, lips closing on his, pulling him back from the edge and Scott lets himself fall.
Not backwards, into the black hole beyond which only madness lies, but forwards, into Flynn, into the kiss, and allows himself to be swept up in the rush of endorphins; the surge of feelings that lift him up and bring his feet firmly back onto the ground, drag his mind into the present, into the now.
"Dree your weird," Flynn mumbles against his mouth and Scott pulls back slightly to gaze, puzzled, into his lover's face.
Flynn smiles, grey eyes soft but with a depth of emotion to them that, if he's honest, scares Scott almost as much as Venjix. To mean this much to someone… For someone to mean this much to him-
"It means to face the fate that's in store for you," the mechanic tells him, breaking through the fear, curbing the thoughts threatening to run unchecked through his mind. "It's not the events in your life, but how you handle them, that shows who you really are."
Face the fate that's in store for you…
Scott's reality shifts.
It's not war and disapproving fathers anymore; it's his teammates. His friends. It's Summer – calm, beautiful, vivacious Summer; unfazed by everything that's been thrown at her; his sister, family in all but blood – in every way that matters; the woman who saved his life.
His reality is her and Dillon dancing around each other, both stubbornly refusing to see what is crystal clear to everyone else. It's Ziggy, enthusiastic and irrepressible, willing to make a fool of himself just to bring laughter to others. It's Dr. K and sweets, her brilliance and her creativity; her training them because she cares about them, cares about whether they live or die.
And it's Flynn… His Flynn. This new and precious thing between them, something that is just his- just theirs. Just for the two of them. That moment of pure selfishness where they gave in to each other and have allowed themselves this. This, whatever it is. It doesn't matter. They might be dead tomorrow, or the next day, so they have to live while they have the chance. To seize this with both hands and screw anyone who thinks they should do otherwise.
His reality is Flynn's arms around him, Flynn's lips against his, Flynn in his bed and in his life. It's intimate, subtle touches while they're working, stolen kisses when they think no one is looking and at night it's just the two of them, pressed together in a space made for one, that familiar smell – that mix of engine oil and grease and something that is just… Flynn – surrounding him, and the outside world ceases to exist. His father, his responsibilities, Venjix… none of it exists, none of it matters.
As he pulls Flynn back into him, his lips once again capturing the other man's, he finds all his worries, all his concerns, melting away, sloughing from his shoulders until all that is left is calloused fingers trailing hot across his skin, sliding under his shirt, Flynn's mouth pressed against his, warm and tender and demanding all rolled into one/at once.
Nothing matters, but this.
This is Scott's reality.
And it doesn't matter if the stars are gone. What matters is they got to shine for that one moment; that one, perfect, beautiful moment of brilliance that stretches out across the eons of space and time, until that single moment captured in light finally reaches a distant, alien planet, becoming a part of its myths and its legends.
For on Earth, that one moment can last a lifetime.
End.