#vs Grian: neurotic prankster plagued by trauma and the thought that he can never live up to his full potential

[twodiamondhoes]

There's No Kind of Atmosphere (WIP)

A Scarian Red Dwarf AU

The door to their bunk slid open, the pneumatics swishing in a way that was familiar to Scar the same way that his own heartbeat was, when it thundered in the silence of being the last alive of over a thousand crew members.

Familiar, too, was the low hum of Grian's light bee, alerting Scar to his presence before he was even all the way through the door. Scar would never admit it, but the sound was nearly as comforting as the rumble of the ship's engine from seventy decks below.

He glanced over at his bunkmate, and was unsurprised to see him sitting at the table by their lockers, fully ignoring his astronav textbook in favor of arguing with the toaster.

"Yes, well, if I wanted a treatise on the universal quandaries of toast, I'd go to you, wouldn't I? But if, say, I didn't, which I don't, then your opinion would be entirely irrelevant."

"Rude," the toaster replied, it's voice still crackling from the last time Scar had punted it across the room. He needed to fix its voice box soon.

"You'll be lucky if you get lukewarm bread tomorrow morning," Scar said, before the toaster could start insulting Grian. They'd be at it all night, if he did, and while Grian might not need to sleep, Scar certainly did. Besides, he knew Grian liked sleeping, liked holding onto the facsimile of life, even if he was closer to being like Mumbo or Etho than he was to Scar. And it would be Scar who'd hear about it all day tomorrow, if he didn't nip this in the bud right now.

Grian stiffened, his back returning to it's usual ramrod-straightness. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. If he weren't a hologram, Scar thought, he'd be giving himself a devil of a headache. Then again, if ever there was a man who could give himself a simulation of a headache, it would be Grian.

"Fancy seeing you here," Grian said, his voice stiff, impassable. Scar resisted the urge to tell him he wasn't seeing anything, since he refused to so much as turn and look at Scar.

"It might come as a surprise," he said instead, trying to inject some humor into the situation. Sometimes Scar thought it would be easier to tell knock-knock jokes to a wall and get a laugh, "given my magnificence, but as amazing as I am, I do still need to sleep."

Scar could hear Grian's teeth grinding together, which was a feat, considering Grian was a projection made entirely of light, and didn't have any real teeth to grind. Scar would have to applaud Mumbo about his dedication to the facsimile of Grian, at some point.

"Let me rephrase, then. I'm surprised you're sleeping here."

Scar felt the world spin a little at the way that Grian's dark eyes cut over to him, looking at him at last, even as he felt his cheeks heat at the... well at the implications of it all.

"Oh," Scar said, because it was all that he could think of. He swung himself up onto his bunk, because it was easier than trying to figure out what Grian's face was doing, and what what Grian's face was doing was doing to him. He laid back, intending to leave it there, and heard Grian's sharp, irritated exhale. Then, because he couldn't leave well enough alone, he asked, "what do you think of her?"

"She's a git," Grian said automatically, and with a vehemence that Scar honestly didn't expect. He swung himself up so that his legs hung over the side of his bunk and looked at Grian again, ignoring the way his bones went sort of itchy with a feeling he wouldn't name when he did.

"Grian," he said, exasperated, "she's you."

Grian didn't answer. At first, Scar thought that that would be it, Grian would try and ignore the conversation, but then he said, in his most standoffish tone, "It's been three million years, Scar. I've always been dedicated to the plight of women in the world, and I think it's high time we all admitted that women can be gits, too."

"That's not," Scar cut himself off with a groan. It was worse than Grian trying to ignore the conversation. He was being willfully obtuse. Scar hated when Grian was willfully obtuse about things. It made him so much more stubborn. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

Grian slammed the hologrammatic book closed. It dislodged the simulation of a dust jacket, revealing not Advanced Properties of Physics and You, but the startlingly yellow cover of Astronavigation for Dummies. Scar thought it made a satisfying noise, even if it was a little tinny, not as robust as slamming a real book shut would be. Grian stood up, passing through the chair he'd been almost-sitting in, and tucked the book under his arm. That, more than anything, clued Scar in to how upset Grian really was by all of this. He could pass through objects without trouble--had to, actually, given as a hologram, he couldn't touch anything--but he went out of his way to avoid it. Scar suspected it was another way to hold onto life, whatever way he could.

"Yes, yes," Grian said, his voice dripping with cheer, "we all know how taken you are with her and her space heroics, and her ponytail, it's all a bit sickening, really. Still, when you get around to it, do send me a save the date, so I can have Etho burn it."

"Grian," Scar began, but found he was speaking to Grian's back as he swept out of the room. He sighed, turning to the darkened screen in the corner of the room. "Where did I go wrong, Mumbo?"

The projection of the ship's computer flared to life, Mumbo's face twisted in sympathy.

"I'm no expert, mate, and this is just a guess, but I think it might have been when you asked him about Miss Griande."

Scar groaned again, frustrated beyond belief, and let himself fall back onto the thin mattress of his bunk.

"Lights," he called, and the room faded into darkness around him. He laid there a while, pretending to sleep, until a familiar hum returned to the room.

"Lights," Grian whispered, "dimmed."

Behind his closed eyelids, Scar noticed the lights raise infinitesimally. Something rose in him at the gesture. Grian had to know he wasn't asleep, he jabbed at Scar often enough about his snoring, but he still made the gesture, careful not to wake Scar. Careful to help them both maintain Scar's plausible deniability.

Grian sighed, sounding half frustrated, and half something Scar didn't quite recognize with his eyes closed.

Part of him wanted to ask what was wrong, but with the familiar hum of Grian's light bee finally back in the bunk below his, sleep was already stealing over Scar's consciousness.