Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek
A/N: Set after Wolf in the Fold
Lights Out
He's got the lights dimmed and an arm thrown over his eyes, too afraid to turn the lights out completely, but not tired enough to fall asleep with them on. In all honesty, he feels a little foolish, like a child in need of a night-light, but after all he's been through he's willing to be a little foolish to make himself feel better.
Not that it's working.
He groans and rolls onto his side, dropping his arm and fixing his gaze on the wall opposite. Maybe if he stares at it long enough it'll put him to sleep. He'd rather have some scotch, but the Doctor has ordered him to refrain from imbibing any alcohol in case the concussion isn't completely cleared up, and it's damn near killing him.
"Nothin' like a good shot o' scotch to put a fella into a nice, easy sleep," he mutters angrily at the wall. He rolls back onto his back after shooting a glare at the nonresponsive bulkhead and rolls onto his back, clenching his eyes shut. He's going to get to sleep, scotch or no.
"Who the hell is there?" he grumbles, opening his eyes as he hears the whoosh of the opening door. He goes to sit up, but even before he can see who has come in, he has his answer.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Scott," the familiar accented voice of Lieutenant Kyle says. "I didn't know you'd be asleep. I'll just…"
By this time, Scotty is sitting up enough to see the young man, standing in the doorway, his head bowed but his eyes on the chief engineer. "Nah, s'all right, Lad," Scotty says, waving a hand in dismissal. "I wasn't gettin' much sleep done anyway, so come on in."
"The Doctor says you are to rest," Kyle says.
Scotty has to grit his teeth to keep from shouting 'the Doctor be damned'. Instead, he stands, stretching his arms over his head, and beckons for Kyle to come over. The young transporter chief shifts his weight slightly, but otherwise doesn't move, and Scotty feels a tug of guilt, starting to wonder if he's taken advantage where he shouldn't have. Then Kyle speaks, and Scotty knows just how misplaced that particular fear is.
"I…uh…I heard what happened. Down there." Kyle runs a nervous hand through his hair and falls silent again, and the minutes drag on painfully.
Scotty clears his throat. "You worried about me?" he tries to joke, forcing a playful smile ontp his face, but Kyle's expression remains morose. "I never took you for a jealous man, Lieutenant."
At the sound of his rank, Kyle straightens up, his face set and determined. "I'm not, sir," he says. "I was just, as you said, worried about you."
Scotty laughs. "Of course you were, John," he says. He waves a hand again. "C'mere, then!"
Kyle shakes his head, but an amused smile has growing on his lips, and he crosses the room to stand before Scotty. He runs a hand along Scotty's arm, up across his shoulder, then cups the other man's cheek. "Don't ever get accused of murder again," he mutters.
"I won't," Scotty says, dipping his head and pressing his lips to Kyle's, a short kiss. He sits back down on the bed, stretching out, his hands under his head. Kyle laughs and lays down next to him, taking a few minutes to reposition so they can both fit comfortably on the small bunk.
"Computer, lights out," Kyle says, his breath warm on Scotty's cheek. "There, that should help you get to sleep."
"I'm sure it will," Scotty says, wrapping his arms around Kyle and tilting his head so their foreheads touch. "I'm sure it will."
