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.

Comments

[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.

[amplenacelles.livejournal.com]

"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."

[amplenacelles.livejournal.com]

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."

[allmhadadh.livejournal.com]

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."

[amplenacelles.livejournal.com]

“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.