He hadn't quite anticipated coming back to the beach again after leaving it, not this quick, but Scotty learned a swift, important lesson about Rhy'Din over the past week: Never go unarmed.

The walk back had been beautiful, despite the length. Decent weather on the way to where the portal had skipped, and a very... very fine distraction on the way. Namely speaking, Harold Lee.

And the memory of his fiance haloed in red and gold leaves, head back, eyes closed, black hair ruffled and wild was one that Scotty was sure he'd be keeping for the rest of his life.

Now, they were back on the beach. Slept in their bed, and he woke up very early to make breakfast, think and plan. He chewed some over what they were going to need and want, aside weapons. He thought about Alex, who'd expressed a wish to come along. He didn't know if the security officer would -- it might have been an impulse decision -- but if he did, Scotty was glad enough for the company. The man seemed sincere and decent, and Scotty had a sneaking suspicion that staying on the beach might break his heart eventually.

There were a lot of people Scotty would gather up to take with them, but in the end, he wasn't here to ask people along. And in the end, he thought that Harold would probably be far better suited for such approaches, if they were to be made at all.

Right now, Scotty was working on the future.

It was a strange thing, to reconcile the beach with Rhy'Din. Strange to be confronted with the memories here, and the recent ones of Rhy'Din again, now in a different context. Especially the people. He tried to fit them all into his mind where they belonged, and it was harder than he expected it to be.

For some strange reason, he wondered how each of them would react to Tara.

Scotty was shockingly fond of the woman. He wasn't even sure why, because it had happened fast and taken him off-guard, and she certainly wasn't the kind of person he would have actually picked out of a line-up, if there was such a thing, to become fond off swiftly. Yet, there it was. She confused him and bemused him, and she made him laugh, and her matter-of-fact words right before they left the Arena had resounded deep. He wanted to tell her then, "I'm pretty young, ye willna have t' worry about buryin' me fer a very long time." If only to make her feel better.

When he tried to imagine what the beach denizens would think of Tara, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't even begin to. He wanted to think that they would see why he liked her so much, even though she had a death-list that was the size of a book, and even though she was unlike anything they'd ever encountered, but then he thought that maybe some of them had been dead for so long that they couldn't actually see something alive anymore. And despite her age, her lament that her time was over, when he looked at her, Scotty saw life.

She and Harold seemed to get along, peripherally, and that made him happy. They hissed at each other. And Harold hissed with a grin. And Tara took him off the death-list.

He thought again about Alex then. He had promised to teach Tara how to use a phaser, and then he wondered if Alex might want to instead. And Harold, too, at the same time.

These thoughts meandered as Scotty started building his arsenal in his mind. Hand phasers, phaser rifles. Four of the hand phasers each, two rifles each. Alex could decide on what he wanted to bring. Scotty also made sure to mentally include four cases with split-dilithium batteries in it, numbering damn near a hundred a case. They were tiny batteries, the cases fairly smallish, and that should keep their tech going for the rest of their lives easily, even if they went somewhat heavy-use on the phasers. He could also design an adapter to recharge them on local power, if need be, though that would definitely take some time.

He paused on occasion to watch the sky, as he thought and as he made breakfast. Twin suns rising red, over a tamed sea, over an unchanging beach. The color reminded him of Alex's shirt, and Tara's hair.

And Harold, framed in leaves, elemental.

Scotty smiled and went back to cooking and thinking.

One thing that Scotty knew he wanted to do was take back a PADD. Actually, he planned to take five or so, but one in particular loaded with a certain set of things, and that was for Renne. His own PADD that he had allowed the not-dude to borrow was mostly based on Earth culture and knowledge, just because that was what Scotty used.

The PADD that he set up for Renne went far beyond that. It was loaded, then, more for education and crossed a lot more cultures. A good primer on many of the Federation's cultures and even some aside; Klingon and Romulan for instance. History, language, traditions. He didn't know if Renne would be interested in those things, but he figured that he would give the not-dude a chance to find something to study up on that wasn't tied solely for human culture. Therefore, Terran was only one subset.

He had gone out to the beach. And he came back with Marlena's decision to join them.

Scotty actually had to close the door to the house and lean back on it to breathe. Alex reaffirmed his choice, too. And now, it looked like it would be four of them; him, Harold, Alex and Marley on the return.

He had never quite anticipated how frightening that thought was. Not because he didn't want them along -- God, he didn't want to leave anyone behind here who might have a chance, a real living chance, in Rhy'Din. But because suddenly, he was scared of how he would take care of them.

Scared of whether or not he could protect them.

Rhy'Din wasn't like the beach. It was real, and he had already figured out that he needed that reality. Dragons, vampires, zombies... it didn't matter, everything about Rhy'Din felt real and alive. Even the dragons and vampires and aliens. Tara. Icer. The wee little pink dragon that had appeared on his head. Aly. Darcy. Renne. Mai. The humanoids felt real, and alive, and vulnerable. Seeker. Silas. Maria. Bly. A bunch of others, whom he only knew on sight but didn't have the names of.

Rhy'Din wasn't like the beach. It was real, and people bled for real there. It had real danger -- the scene in the Arena had shown that much. His kidnapping, too. There was no handwaving; what you wanted, you had to work for. There was no perfect, eternal sunshine; fall would lead to winter, then back to spring.

"Could I protect 'em?" he asked himself. But there was no answer.

It was one thing to firmly decide that he was willing to give up the safety and security of the beach, all for a single chance at life. It was another, though, watching others have to make that choice.

But it was a choice. He could only offer it; he couldn't make it for them.

Scotty breathed. The sky outside was a perfect blue. Marley's uniform. Renne. Icer.

Harold's ribbon.

He pushed off of the door, determined, and got back to coordinating.

That arsenal of his was created, and packed; two backpacks. There were other odds and ends too, but most of the bulk of that was weaponry. He had figured that Marlena and Alex, if they didn't change their minds come morning, would be able to create their own before the walk back to Rhy'Din.

Everything done, then, Scotty slept.

He fell asleep out on the beach in Harold's arms, head tucked up under his fiance's in a comfortable hold that he had grown to love here in this place. It was secure, mostly; it felt safe. In those times when the rest of his world seemed to be falling apart, he knew that he could crawl into Harold's arms and be held through it.

His world was changing, again, but he wasn't falling apart himself. He was just glad for the closeness. The security. The certainty he could find here.

Everything done, he slept; stirred briefly when Harold picked him up to carry him to bed, just long enough to wrap his arms around Harold's neck. Stirred again when he was put into bed, curling up back into the same hold they'd had on the beach. At some point, he didn't know when, Harold had taken his boots and socks off, but when he felt that familiar form crawl in with him, that was when he stirred to turn into it.

Scotty didn't dream often. And when he did, he almost never remembered what he had been dreaming. The only thing usually left over if he had been was a feeling -- sometimes contentment, sometimes uneasiness -- which would fade away with the routine of morning and reality creeping back in. Sometimes he would have nightmares, but not near so much as he used to.

He wouldn't remember what he dreamed tonight, but it was a good dream; dominated with fragments of memory, and color. The Pacific. The golden grass on the Marin Valley trail, and the flowers opening in the morning light. The colors of real Risa, far more vivid and vibrant than the beach that seemed a pale comparison.

Harold's hair, black, under his cheek. They were only friends, then, both of them physically battered up. And Harold was crying for the pain that had already hit him, but even more, for the pain that was going to when he broke away from that mind-link he had with Sulu and onto his own path.

Under the pier, in the pale sand, under the muted greens and browns of the wood above; the ocean, in all the blues. His pretty shell, pinks and violets and peach and soft colors.

And Harold's hair, ink black. The dye-work Scotty did, on Harold's back, that he drew bleeding out of that hair; he painted Harold's entire back in the colors of twilight. Amateur work, but the man who wore it made it look good. It wasn't that long ago; it was in the bed he slept in now.

Stargazing in the hammock.

Rhy'Din's sky; unknown, but sometimes clear at night, past the frosty windows, a scattering of stars on a black velvet background.

Scotty wasn't afraid of the dark. He liked sleeping in sunlight, he liked daylight, and twilight, but he wasn't afraid of the dark. He walked in it often enough. And he was at home in it, really, in ways that went beyond the literal light or lack thereof.

Often, though, that black was colder.

Dashes of color; places, moments that mattered. And after that, black.

And this black was warm.