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"Oh, bloody no, that's ridic-- ridic-- stupid."

Scotty was a little drunk.

"Come on, it's a classic! Look, see how they use wires to make the Vulcans fly?"

Andy was a little drunk, too.

Abby was pinned between them on the couch, and would not classify herself as more than slightly buzzed. Outside, rain poured down the windows as a summer thunderstorm whipped Boothbay Harbor into a frenzy of fleeing tourists. Inside, they were watching an absolutely horrible vid Andy had somehow gotten his hands on. Dinner was done, the dishes were done, the guys were home from work or class, Abby had the day off, and she still wasn't sure how this ended up being her evening.

"When was this made?" she asked, looking past their three pairs of socked feet sitting up on the coffee table to eye the old vid.

"2064. It was one of the first ones made after First Contact," Andy said, proudly. Like knowing pointless vid trivia was important.

"I have never -- ever -- seen a Vulcan fly." Scotty pointed at the screen, and then frowned when Abby took the glass -- not the shot glass, the proper full-sized glass -- of whiskey out of his hand and leaned forward to put it out of the way. "I was drinkin' that!"

"Was is the operative word," Abby said, smoothly, and then she divested Andy of his as well. He, however, just protested with a pout.

"I havena had a drink in-- in--"

"Months, I know."

"--and-- and-- uhm." Scotty leaned forward, too far forward, almost offbalancing himself into the coffee table, probably to beseech Andy to talk sense into his fiancee, and Abby sighed, hauled him back upright and shook her head. "Uhm. Cor. There was somethin' I was gonna say there."

"Got me," Andy answered, looking over with wide, not-entirely-focused eyes.

"Oh! I think I am perfectly fine t' finish that glass."

"I'm sure you are," Abby said, and chewed down a smirk. Or a smile. Or a little of both.

Scotty made a noise of irritation, crossed his arms and settled back against her side. On the other side, Andy just snuggled right in.

She knew ages ago that if she wanted to have Andy, she'd never be able to have him all to herself. She would always have to share him; with his family, with Scotty, with the ocean. It was one of the many, many reasons why it took so long for her to decide to stay, for good, and to marry him. Sometimes, it still scared the heck out of her. Except for her Dad, family was a blade; it cut, it cut, it cut, and it made you bleed.

She knew she would have to share him, and out of all of those things she had to share him with, Scotty was the most terrifying of the bunch. All it took for them to see one another was one meeting. He could -- did -- see right through her mask. And she did see right through his. And they both danced careful steps, with Andy in the middle; not for his time, not for his attention, but to protect him. From each other, and from themselves.

Maybe especially from themselves.

And they both failed.

It so happened that the good man she was going to marry, the good man who had brought along his brother, would love them both despite their scars.

"No, you know, Scotty's right. This is really stupid," she said, when the fifth Vulcan took off flying on not-quite-invisible wires to go and help the hero human out of a jam. It was enough to startle the guys out of the somewhat dazed stupor they'd fallen into, watching the screen themselves.

"Aye, right?"

"You two are always ganging up on me," Andy said, mock-offended, sounding and looking half asleep. "You make me do dishes--"

"--because ye canna cook--"

"--and you make me clean the apartment--"

"Because neither of us wants to live in squallor."

"--and now you're insulting some of my favorite classical film making."

"Which is stupid," Abby and Scotty said, mostly in unison.

Andy pouted again, eyes closed. Then they sprang open. "I just realized something."

"What's that?" Abby asked, snuggling further into the couch and the body heat of the two guys pinning her there.

Andy looked over with the most solemn expression. "I'm marrying my brother in female form. What does that say about me?"

Abby and Scotty both looked back at him. Blinked. Abby thought about it. And, frankly, she couldn't actually argue all that much with the assessment, personality wise.

Then, Scotty raised both of his eyebrows and replied, in perfect deadpan, "I'd say that means ye have impeccable tastes."

Whatever Andy said after that was lost in a somewhat drunken gale of laughter, and whatever other inebriated philosophy might have come out of it was lost when the guys giggled themselves back into a stupor, and then to sleep, and whatever was gained by a night where neither of them woke up from nightmares, both of 'em using Abby's shoulders as a headrest, they would never piece together.

But she would always remember.

She just settled in, and on an impulse kissed 'em both on the tops of their heads, and watched the rest of that stupid vid until she finally fell asleep herself, in the first family she'd ever had that never made her bleed.


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