Before the Anvil Falls - [Crew Laundry, Deck 14]

[allmhadadh]

The night watches on the Enterprise were surprisingly quiet, and that had left Scotty to mostly work unaccosted and uninterrupted. It was a bit more tricky without some kind of repair list, but he'd kept himself busy. All the minor, silly things that weren't critical. Well, and shower sabotage, but that was more for the sake of principle than anything else. He had a lot of issues with doctors, but he had even more of an issue with Harold's acceptance that what McCoy threatened was remotely acceptable. If someone would have threatened him like that, he probably would have tried to tear their throat out.

And likewise would not have realized that he did until it was too late.


He shook off the disturbed threads of his own mind while he worked, almost literally, but when the work was done and he'd about run out of things to do, they descended again inevitably. Now that danger wasn't quite so immediate (real or perceived), he found himself back to the scramble of moments and minutes and trying to process the universe and battle it all at the same time. The moments where he was all right, he was genuinely so; the moments where he wasn't, he really wasn't. He was used to living like that, in singular periods of time. To others, it made him mercurial and unpredictable -- wild -- and to him it was just the way life was. He never had known anything else.

He had worked all night, and when the night was over, he'd stopped back in his quarters. He had missed the message meant for him, not being near any terminals, and being so turned inward. Harold was still there, fitfully asleep; Scotty didn't have the heart to wake him up. He could have the quarters, for all Scotty cared about them himself.

He gathered his clothes, slowly, falling into long moments of motionlessness -- falling still outside, scrambling mentally inside -- then managed to drag his head together enough to go do laundry. He had to return the other Scott's clothes, then he would really be scores-even with the universe. And he'd never conceive of sending them back dirty.

The clothes he wore now smelled worryingly familiar, and though they were a little big, they fit fairly comfortably, too. Black t-shirt, black trousers, black socks, black boots. He almost felt like a cadet for a few minutes when he'd gotten dressed, absent the gray, high-collared over-shirt, but then it just faded away again. He didn't know what he was anymore.

He found the most out of the way laundry room he could, deep in the ship, near guaranteed to be empty. He didn't know he was following the instinctive tracks of his older self, the original he was a reflection of; that the both of them, in quiet and more gentle ways, sought out mechanics, even noise and warmth when they wanted some outward comfort to combat inner turmoil.

He didn't know; it would have leveled him if he did.

He just put the clothes in, then nestled himself in between the washer and the back wall, curling his arms against his stomach and drawing his knees up to be as invisible and insular as possible.

Always fighting for his peace.

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It should have taken longer than it did, to track down the young version of himself. He'd been putting it off, admittedly, and even his half-hung over brain manage to remind him how right foolish that was. He'd gone looking for the lad in the rooms and only found that not-Sulu, Harold.

At that point, Scotty really should have let it pass, but he'd not. And even with the mucked up sensors, he managed to track the lad down to the Deck 14 Auxiliary laundry.

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

He was still there, half-dozing off in moments where he'd managed to fall into the sound of machines cycling, waking up again when something went into a different pitch. He'd heard snippets of the crew talking while he'd been working, mentioning they were due in orbit soon around... what was it? Risa?

But he was in one of the awake moments when the door opened, and blinked the haze out of his mind; he was nearly invisible, but not completely, and he certainly wasn't in the best position to ward off an attack.

So, he stood up, wincing a little, and cast a look to see who it was before an almost weary look crossed his face and he clasped his hands behind his back. "Sir."

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As the other's expression fell, Scotty let out a low sigh. The door snapped closed behind him and Scotty attempted to smile. As tense as his meeting with the older version of Scott had been, this was downright awkward.

"Its quite refreshin' tae find tha' leavin' ya be fixes half tha' kinks in tha' ship," Scotty offered and leaned against the wall by the door. "Thanks fer tha'."

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

"Have t' earn my keep somehow." A really simple statement of fact. Scotty turned back to the laundry unit he'd half-forgotten about, pulling out the clothes and expertly folding them. "I've yer clothes 'ere for ye; I was plannin' on just droppin' 'em off at yer quarters."

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"Earn yer keep?" Scotty repeated and frowned as he tried to digest that statement. Wait, he was dropping his clothes off? He must have picked up the set he'd been wearing. Scotty blinked and cocked his head to the side as he regarded the him.

"Ya dunnae need ta return them, lad," Scotty prefaced and shrugged, "But I'll take them if ya dunnae think ya'll need them."

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

"They're nae mine." Concrete little creature, he was. He set the borrowed clothes aside, then folded the one set that had needed washing that he'd unwittingly borrowed from the older man he wasn't ever going to be.

"I... if ye're..." He paused, an obvious wash of frustration crossing his face as he struggled to come up with some kind of words here. God only knew what compelled him to. He sure didn't. "Ye dinna owe me anythin', sir, related or no. I mean, if 'at's what ye're worried over."

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"Ha, if 'at's what I'm worried o'er," Scotty repeated quietly and shook his head. He was definitely being 'Yes, nan'd.'

"Lad, I dunnae mind givin' o'er a shirt or two," Scotty assured him. "Particular' givin' tha peculiar one-off wat got ya intae this codswallop."

Scotty folded his arms across his chest and took a good long look at the lad before him. He really did look just mum's side of the family. All brickish and shuffling, just like his uncles. It was no short wonder that he'd not figured it out yet, particularly with how little he looked like his mum's relatives--that thought caused Scott to frown slightly.

"So did thay' call ye' Monty or Montgomery?" Scotty prompted casually and allowed his shoulders to sag a little.

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

Scotty had to give this unknown relative this: He had a colorful accent. Like a strange blend between Doric-Scots, Glaswegian and a wee bit of English slang thrown in for flavor. And despite himself, it made him curious, even as he recoiled from the thought of getting into any long discussions about family history, of all things.

"Monty," he replied, after a moment, and given the expression on his face when he did, it was more than a little bit of an annoying nickname. He hated that name. "I... I dinna much care fer it; if not Scott, then Montgomery, usually... I mean, 'at's usually fit I go by. 'Cept my squad-mates in Basic, they took t'callin' me Scotty."

Jesus, he was babbling. Why the Hell was he babbling? He swallowed, trying to shake that off. But he'd run out of clothes.

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Scotty inclined his head in response--He'd never taken to Monty, but the way his Nan had always stretched Montgomery into an invective made him equally uncomfortable. He couldn't very well call the lad Scott, and Scotty would just be odd. That left only the one.

"Aye, my mates called me 'at too," Scotty smiled as he spoke, fond memories of basic and after flitting to mind. "Ya wonnae be gutted if I call ya' Monty, en?"

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

"Montgomery, if ye'd prefer usin' my forename." He wasn't kidding when he said he didn't care for the nickname Monty. And he got used to hearing 'Scott' at work and in Basic, and 'Scotty' from the guys in his squad, but he would take anything but Monty. The name made him cringe. "I... it doesna matter much, sir. I was plannin' on steppin' off 'ere anyway... I mean, whenever we hit orbit."

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At this Scotty's eyebrows practically met his short-clipped hair. He folded his arms just below his chest and stared, slightly incredulously, at the boy.

"Aye then, Montgomery?" Scotty prompted quizzically. "An why'd yae do tha'? Tha' is, if yae' dunnae mind tellin'."

He'd have to dissuade the lad, there was no telling what might happen to the other Mr. Scott, nor to he himself, if this lad came to danger or death. That and, for all intensive purposes, they were related. And if that didn't make his head twinge, he wasn't sure what would.

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He finally looked over, if only for a moment, like this other Scott had somehow grown an eyeball right between those eyebrows of his. Why would anyone even ask that? It was pretty obvious to him. "A man's gotta make a livin'. I'm nae an engineer, an' if this is some alternate universe, then I'm nae even qualified as a Starfleet cadet. An' I'm a good mechanic, so I figured I'd go find someone willin' t' hire one off o' th' books, 'til I can figure out what t 'do."

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It was a solid bit of logic, really, and Scotty himself would probably have used the same if he was in the same situation. The fact that he understood, though, didn't help keep him from laughing aloud. It was a light, quick, and none-to-soft chuckle, and he managed to reign it in quickly with a shake of his head and a broad grin.

"Lad, ya cannae git half a job on Risa," Scotty clarified, his grin wide. "An' in this peculiar instance, I cannae think tha' Captain would dispute yer' basic."

Scotty dropped his arms to his sides and pushed away from the wall, standing straight upright. He really wasn't much taller than the lad--must've been all his mother's family in him.

"Anyroad, I couldnae' live wit myself if I let ya' scarper off," Scotty added, "Probably in both figurative an' literal, if any of the mates round' here are example."

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

The laugh made him bristle. One day, his older self would pick up the nickname Wolf, albeit in a roundabout way. But despite not having that name, Scotty bristled in exactly that manner.

He made eye-contact now, drawing himself up in the same sort of manner, eyes narrowed slightly; the other Scott was about two inches taller, maybe a bit more, but he wasn't about to let that challenge of body-language go unanswered. "Sir, I c'n appreciate what ye're tryin' t' do 'ere, but I've managed on my own fer a good chunk o' my life. An' I'm a Goddamn good mechanic, an' those're never without work. I dinna need some relative..." He paused, a little echo of sorrow temporarily seeping through that steely posturing, "...tryin' t' go an' watch o'er me. I told ye that ye dinna owe me anythin', an' I meant it.

"Besides that, last I checked, I'm a legal adult. An' I c'n damn well come an' go as I please."

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"Aye, lad, ye are," Scotty agreed, his grin plastered firmly in place, despite the sudden bristling anger pouring off the teenager. "An' aye, if there's a thin' Montgomery Scott can do, it's keepin himself from bein redundant."

He paused and regarded the nearly scowling youth, and his grin fell slightly. It was nowhere near to vanishing, but it took on a distinctly uncomfortable edge.

"I dunnae owe ya much," Scotty continued, "An' I was hopin' I'd nae have tae owe ya an explanation. But I reckon tha' I do."

With a light sigh, Scotty offered his right hand between them, "Lieutenant Commander, Montgomery Scott, cheers."

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

Well, he didn't even remotely know how to respond to that. But he was a smart little thing; he counted back the years from when that Kirk fellow said it was -- 2258 -- and mentally built a calendar.

And he knew it was true.

And it clicked into place, that quiet thing that whispered somewhere down below where his heart was beating now a little too fast, and it clicked into place as though it had always been there. He didn't take the hand; his breathing was light and a little quick, and he just looked at this Montgomery Scott, a gaze that had no words to define it. Not pain, per se. Not bright, readable thought. Just a look that spoke of inevitability.

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"Aye," Scotty commented idly as he withdrew his hand--he hadn't expected the lad to take it, but it seemed appropriate. "When I met tha' other you...well me too, I was a bit gobsmacked."

Scotty frowned and let his hands fall to his sides. "It's right mad, isn't it?" He didn't expect an answer to that either, but he didn't really have anything else to say. Rather, he sighed and regarded the boy before him, waiting for him to speak.

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

He still didn't know what to say. In retrospect, him wondering if he even had a name anymore took on a whole different meaning. And he just sort of accepted it. Didn't go cracking up, didn't... what could he do, really?

But finally he made an attempt at speech, voice a wee bit ragged-edged, like he hadn't used it in years even though he obviously had. "Aye."

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The silence between them was a bit oppressive, and Scotty tried to think of something to lighten the load. Between him and the other Scott, there had been a bit of an emergency, a bit of work to be discussed and completed. What did he have in kind with this version? Aside from some basic genetics and a general propensity for fixing things, he had no idea.

"If ye want, Montgomery," Scotty supplied after several seconds. "Ya can be Scotty 'ere. It just dunnae feel right callin' ya Mr. Scott, anyroad."

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There was a long moment where the words slowly filtered through whatever it was he was feeling, and then he offered a half-smile that was rather reminiscent of his older self. As though he'd come to at least some tentative understanding with himself. "S'a'right, aye?" He picked up the set of clothes he had sort of borrowed, then set them on the machine next to where the other Scott was standing.

"Ye still dinna owe me anything." And then he picked his own clothes up. "An' I'm still breathin', sir. An' what's yers..." He took a slow breath, "...ye've earned. Includin' the name."

He headed for the door, taking another breath, doing his damndest to mask the ragged, shaking edge on it and mostly succeeding. "An' I'll be a'right."

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“Och, lad,” Scotty held out his hands, trying to prevent the other Scott's exit in the least confrontational manner possible—god knew he didn't enjoy being patronized or commanded at that age, either. “Ya' dunnae ken.”

He paused and tried to formulate an explanation for a situation he didn't fully comprehend himself. The effort was tiring and, after several seconds, Scotty just let out a low, plosive, guffaw. With all the mucking up of temporal physics this ship had gone through, it was a wonder they'd not cracked the universe itself in two. As he imagined it, another thought occurred to him.

“Cor, mate, dinnae ya join Starfleet wher' yer from?” Scotty prompted, knowing full well that he had. “Isn't a favor I'll be doin ya', keepin' ya on, least till we can git back ta' San Francisco.” Scotty scrubbed his hand through his hair and eyed the kid. “It's what we do fer' any officer stranded in strange places.”

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

He pulled up short sharply when the other Scott -- Scotty -- put his hands out, jerking to a halt. Still breathing, but it was harder than it should have been. But damned if he'd crack here.

He wasn't sure which part hurt worse: The facts or the concern, which seemed genuine.

"I... I'll think on it," he finally forced himself to reply, snarling internally to quash the jagged edge creeping into his voice, gently pushing the man's hands out of his way. And once he managed to maintain his dignity out of eyeshot, he broke into a full-out run, heading back towards the quarters he didn't even like and praying they'd be empty.

He made it about three steps in before he did something utterly normal; he hit his knees, curled his arms over his head, forehead to the floor, and sobbed his heart out.