Chapter Text
Perera's Theory was far harder to understand when he actually tried to read up on it himself. The boy's explanation had been simple, direct and summed it up smoothly, but the actual math and technical information on it was a beast to slough through. More marks for how damn smart that lad was; every time Jay thought he’d figured that out, the boy would do something to show how sharp he really was.
Jay tried to get through the text anyway. He sat down in the evening, in his bungalow, put on his reading glasses and tried to pick his way through in order to be able to hold a conversation about it. It wasn't that he really cared about the information itself, or its applications. But thus far, having even a little bit of it absorbed into his mind was enough to be able to talk with the boy about it.
He never quite realized how fast children grew, until he was around one that he watched growing, unbidden and even unwillingly. And he never even contemplated how watching someone grow up could be both intensely painful and--
That was another hard part. Without ever meaning to, Jay found himself in those moments of pride that he felt he had no right to have. Watching this smart, motivated kid piece things together to test a theory put forth by someone far older and more schooled, it came as a shock to Jay to realize that he was grinning, and that it was a proud grin.
It gave rise to lots of moments of guilt and self-doubt, and moments where he even thought of kicking the kid out of the yard, just to spare himself those bad times when he questioned all of those things that couldn't be changed.
But he didn't. Didn't even want to, most of the time.
McKay had bargained out for seven of the navigation shield generators. Pricey business, too, but they had worked out a payment arrangement that could be spread out. Jay took the hit on the initial cost of transport, but had to make arrangements with the boy (whose pride was as touchy as his confidence was fragile) in order to pay off the debt. That was how Montgomery became an official employee of McMillan & Winslow Salvage, and the time he spent in the yard was split between modifying the generators and doing on-the-books yard work.
Jay knew that Cait probably had no idea what her son was doing for a job, and definitely not where, because she would have cut that off right quick. But Jay figured that if she did want to know that badly, she could bring it up with him. It kept Montgomery off of the streets, out of trouble and it gave him somewhere safe and monitored to work on his engineering goals.
It had been pricey, but it was worth the cost. Jay told himself that he got a good employee out of it, but the truth was, it made him feel both better and worse about things.
As the lad worked, he got more and more certain that there was something wrong with Perera's theory; got more and more confident in that assertion, too. When he talked about it, he lost his anxiety-stricken hesitations and could raise his voice to carry on a conversation directly, even with all eyes on him. He still talked fast and gestured everywhere, a bit more of that manic energy of Cait’s showing through, but there was a certain level of calm even within it that was one more thing Jay felt that quiet, unwilling pride over.
It was really getting harder to just think of him as a boy, too. Even though he didn't look the part of an adult yet, he was growing into it fairly fast.
"He's gonna have some shoulders on him," Jay had commented, coming back in from where he'd been helping move some new parts over to the area of the yard where Montgomery had been working.
"Wonder who he got those off of," Winslow had replied, with a chuckle.
It was an ill-timed comment, meant lightly and taken hard. Jay had frozen, then had continued to the coffee pot, working his jaw. He stayed in the office the rest of the evening, and didn't leave until everyone else did, especially the kid. Winslow was apologetic about it, but the apology made it even worse, so finally it was just dropped and not brought up again. And the sting faded, though the nerve it hit was still active and open.
There was some mild relief after that; the lad got himself that girl he'd been pining over for some time, and then he spent a month and some being a perfectly average teenage boy who couldn't concentrate on anything but mooning over his fair lass. He still worked, but his focus was shot, and he actually took normal days off. He didn't have much spending money now that he was on the books properly and paying for the field generators, but Jay didn't mind him being less productive. It was kind of heartening to see him acting like a sixteen-year-old should act, right down to the hormonal obsessions of young love, and the lad being away more let Jay get himself better centered.
It only lasted that month and a bit, and in an equally normal manner, the kid moped considerably for awhile when it ended. But he eventually got over it, then went right back to the project he had let sit while he was trying his hand at romance, focused all over again.
"Any luck?" Jay asked, as he started cleaning up the office. It was raining hard outside, so the lad had come back in and was working the theory's math over for the umpteenth time, as though he didn't have it memorized from start to finish.
"No, sir. Whatever's not workin' in it for me, isna in the math. Too solid. But I suppose when I get tae test it, I'll learn for sure, one way or the other."
Jay nodded, chewing it over. They'd had a few talks about it now, and he found that when the lad explained things, it was far easier to grasp. Jay still picked at the texts, but he got over any pride when it came to asking about things that confused him, mostly because when the explanations did come, they were patient and held no condescension, and had a real, genuine passion to boot.
It fell quiet, but then the lad asked, "What was it like?"
Jay froze again, hoping to whatever might have passed for god that that wasn't a question he didn't want to answer, then tried for casual as he went back to cleaning, "What was what like?"
"The Merchant Marine." The kid gestured to the certificates on the wall, Jay's certificates.
It was hard not to sigh in relief, but he managed. Felt like he just faced a firing squad and all the weapons broke before they had a chance to take him out. "Not too bad. Hopped as a third-class tech onboard a cargo carrier to Deneva, worked my passage on the Horizon Star; then I got there and spent a few years workin' on the dyna-carriers. Managed to get up to engineer's mate before I came back to Earth."
"Ocean-goin'?"
"On Deneva, aye. Liked it, while I was doin' it."
The lad nodded, looking at the certificates. And after Jay finished his cleanup, and had a moment to think, he realized why.
"Dinna waste yerself on that," Jay said, shaking his head. At the confused, slightly uneasy look he got in reply, he elaborated, "I'm an old junkyard dog. It's no big thing for me to go crawlin' through the ranks, spendin' years doin' grunt work. But ye're too smart to go that route; ye'd just end up bein' wasted in some dead end job."
The kid frowned, looking unhappy and disheartened both, going back to gazing at the book he had on his knees.
Jay sighed, mostly to himself. He tried to think of how to word things, to get through what he was trying to say. "Perera's Theory,” he finally said. “The Merchant Marine's good, honest work, ye’d find a spot there and they’d be glad to have you, but ye'd still end up workin' on old ships, on steady runs, where they dinna need people who see these theories and wanna test 'em out, aye? If ye're interested in goin' into space, then go into Starfleet. They have the newest tech, the best resources for research and development, and ye'd get to do this kind o' testin' for a livin'. And if ye want, ye can still be a mechanic there, too."
That seemed to do the trick a little better. The lad nodded after a moment, obviously working the notion over, testing it out. Then he said, almost suddenly, "Mum wants me to go to university. Business school, like my Nana did. She doesna mind me takin' engineering classes, but..."
The lad had cut himself off; whatever would have come after that didn’t really need to be said, though. Fiona Scott had been a battleaxe of a woman who had tried very damned hard to marry Cait off to Jay as soon as they hit adulthood, but when that didn’t work -- when Cait cast Jay aside for something more exciting -- and after the elder Montgomery died, she headed out to Risa to start a company selling localized weather-nets to resorts. She was fiercely smart and brilliant at numbers.
Her grandson didn’t have the make to follow her path, though; Jay was certain he’d be miserable trying, too. And-- somehow it didn’t surprise him that Cait either didn’t realize that, or did and figured that Montgomery would have to learn to live with it anyway.
Jay started organizing his desk, just to have something to focus his hands and eyes on. He worked his jaw, trying not to let his shoulders get too tense. He wanted to say something, but what the hell could he possibly say to that? Sorry, lad, yer mother’s a steamroller and doesna much notice who she flattens if she’s tryin’ to get somewhere. It would be pointlessly cruel to say that to her son, and probably not all that fair to her.
Still, though, he wanted better for the lad. So, he took a breath, let it out, then finally said, "Just think about it. Starfleet, Merchant Marine or university, let it work over in yer head for awhile, and dinna let anyone else tell ye which it should end up bein'."
It took until the late fall before everything was modified and finished. The field generators, all seven, were linked up to create a shielding system that was comparable to the Klingon design provided, right down to the resonant harmonics created by them. It required a lot of piecemeal work to get everything; the original navigation shield generators, then all of the parts needed to modify them, and some of them manufactured in the yard's machine shop.
Finally, the last part was the power source, and that was the hardest thing to obtain of all.
The University of Aberdeen's Engineering School had taken an interest in the project. Not enough to spend credits on it, but enough that they were willing to call in people who would be interested in the theory, including Starfleet engineers who were willing to provide the anti-gravity generator, the scaled explosive equivalent of a photon torpedo and a portable transporter platform, just so they could witness the test happen. That had left Jay and the lad scrambling to get ahold of the right type of power source, and finally they were able to locate an old engine from half a century before that had been loosely based off of a Klingon design. It could also be modified to handle a hydrogen-based fuel, making it safe to test the theory on the Earth's surface.
As much work as the mechanics took, though, every day was getting just a little bit harder to face for Jay.
He still didn't spend a whole lot of time with the lad, but he spent enough that it threw his life into a state of chaos. Jay wasn't used to that; he had lived with a pretty certain path in mind, and despite long years of the occasional regret, Cait and him had only derailed it for awhile. It had been a balm to realize that it had all been a mutual decision, and that he didn't have any obligations because everyone wanted it to be swept under the rug and forgotten.
He could just-- pretend that it didn't matter.
Now that balm was gone. There was no way to watch this boy, and see him growing into a young man, and see yet more traits that didn't belong to Cait but to the other side of the equation that led to his existence, without it becoming a nearly constant source of mental turmoil.
Jay didn't let it really affect his interactions with the kid; he didn’t want Montgomery thinking he’d done something wrong. And it wasn't so constant, that turmoil, that Jay didn't get to enjoy some days, especially days where all the pieces fell into place and the kid was excited and borderline friendly, and rambling a mile a second about it all. They still didn't talk much about anything but machines and theories, partly because the lad still avoided those kinds of topics, and partly because Jay just really couldn't bear them.
But every day that passed, it just got harder. The regret got deeper. The guilt did, too. Winslow didn't fail to notice it; Jay knew perfectly well that the old man would encourage Jay to speak up, to change everything, maybe even destroy everything for the sake of the truth coming to light after being buried. Mercifully, though, Winslow kept quiet. And Jay kept struggling.
And there were so many moments those days when Jay wanted to do exactly that: speak up. Where he wanted to go to Cait and demand that it all be said out loud. Where he wanted to look that kid in the eyes and tell him exactly where he came from; tell him where he got the sure, easy use of his hands, and where he was likely going to get a solid, strong build from.
He wished, despite his own thoughts, that he had that driven optimism that the lad did, that nothing could be pronounced unsalvageable until you tried to save it. That wasn't Cait's. And he didn't have it himself. It was something that belonged purely to Montgomery Scott.
Jay knew that there was no way to change things; no way to go back in time and redo it all, and no way to unravel it all now, not without destroying a family. It might not be a perfect family, but he knew he didn't have the right to go and drop a bomb on it. Never mind what it would do to the very kid that was the cause of all of this soul-searching; how could he possibly handle it, when he was only just getting comfortable in his own skin?
It was tearing Jay up inside, and more every day.
Even then, though, the moment where he knew he had to change something, to do something to end this all, came out of nowhere. He'd been thinking about it more and more, but there came a moment where he knew beyond any doubts.
It was only a few days before the test was scheduled to take place; the past several weeks had been spent transporting massive equipment (most often the old-fashioned way, via vehicle) to the University's grounds, and reassembling it. Jay and the rest of the yard's employees, all of them pitched in on it. Junkyard dogs, the lot of 'em, working so this kid could test a theory and maybe answer some question about himself that he didn't even know he was asking.
Late at night, the ignition power cells were rigged into the machine shop's chargers. The lad was half-asleep on the couch, notebooks still in hand, rubbing his eyes every so often even as he was going over things for what had to be a millionth time; the original math and his own plans and theories behind it. Winslow was hanging around, keeping up on the seemingly ever-present pile of forms, inventory sheets, invoicing and everything else that kept the yard running smoothly and profitably.
Jay was hanging around too, staring off into the November rain, mostly just following the dark trails on the dark window, and the sorrowful thoughts that went with 'em.
"Ye might as well go home," he said, after a few moments. "We'll know if those power cells took the charge tomorrow mornin'."
"I'll wait," the lad replied, despite a yawn. "If they dinna take it, I can maybe try somethin' else, aye?"
Jay half-smiled, though he didn't really feel it. "Aye, I suppose."
Silence fell again, but it was a strangely comfortable silence. Despite Jay's internal chaos, there was no anxiety-driven fidgeting from the lad, and no hard questions from Winslow. It was easy to imagine that they could be here, comfortable in each others' presence, five years down the road. Jay held onto that feeling for awhile with both hands and his whole heart, not wanting to let it go.
Finally, though, Jay looked over, regarding the now sleeping kid on the couch. Just over halfway through his sixteenth year, and Jay could see both something of the child he'd been, and the man that he was destined to be. Smart, good with his hands, mechanically inclined, focused; all the things that would make for a damn good engineer not too far down the road.
And yet still the innocent who got half lost in a mess he didn't create, who still believed that anything could be saved, who learned hard lessons early but kept fighting on despite them.
Jay carefully gathered the books and notebooks and set them on Winslow's desk, then he got his coat off the peg and rolled it up, put it at the end of the couch, and prodded the kid lightly in the shoulder. "Wake up, lad. Least long enough to stretch out."
The kid startled a little when he was woken up, but it was obvious that even his seemingly ceaseless energy had hit a limit and abandoned him. He just stared sleepily at Jay for a moment, then did as he was told without any protests, or wariness, or uneasiness.
It was a heart shattering thought that crossed Jay’s mind, as he got an old blanket out of the closet -- clean, though stained from using it to crawl under skimmers -- and covered the kid over: Those eyes could have looked up at him from a cradle. Or the crook of his arm. Or from a wee bed, after a bath and storytime, tucked in. Those same eyes could have looked to him for comfort or advice or safety or shelter for sixteen and a half years.
But because of the choices that Jay and Cait had made, Jay had given that right up without ever realizing that someday, that same child was going to come into his life and show him how much he had lost.
He crouched there for long moments, jaw knotted; when he could finally make himself stand up, he looked back at Winslow and said, soft and ragged, "I need ye to buy me out."
Winslow was looking back at him, a certain misery in his eyes. "That won't change the fact that he's your son. Nothing will, and never did, no matter what agreements you and Cait made."
"No." Jay looked out the window for a moment, wanting to snarl back at the tight grief in his chest. Wanting to shout. Wanting to sob. "But this is killin' me, and we made our choices too long ago to change 'em. Bad choices. And we’ve gotta live with 'em; I dinna think I can, if I stay."
It had been a hard conversation, most of it conducted back in the machine shop so as not the wake the boy at the heart of it, and in the end Winslow had realized that there was no way Jay would -- could -- bend on this. He was going to get out; if he couldn't change the equation, and couldn't live with it, then he had no choice but to remove as much of himself as he could from it.
"You'll at least go and watch him test out this theory," Winslow had finally said, in resignation.
Jay had nodded, willing to hang on and dig his fingernails into the cliff edge he felt like he was slipping off of, at least long enough to make sure that the lad got to show off all those smarts and all that talent, maybe even to people who could give him a real chance to use it all. Despite the bad choices that could have destroyed it.
It was chilly out the day of the test, a good wind blowing, but the sun was shining and there was no rain in the forecast. Jay didn't get in the thick of it; Cait was down there, looking oddly awkward and uncomfortable sidelined the way she was, and he spent a few moments looking at her from a distance, comparing, contrasting. There were more than a few people around, too; Starfleet engineers, who were awed about the modified field generators, University officials who were doubtless claiming the kid as their student, some journalists who probably wrote for the technical journals. A good sized gathering.
Montgomery looked nervous, but not in quite the same way as he once was. Jay had taken the chance to talk to him early in the morning, when it was still quiet -- had given him the tip of holding his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting. The lad was doing that now, except when he got on a roll, then he started gesturing like usual.
"Quite a lot of work, for a boy that age," a man said, and Jay glanced over to see the small, gray-haired fellow standing next to him.
"Aye. It took him most o' the year, and a lot o' puttin' his nose to the grindstone, but he did it." Jay looked back down at the field, where things were starting to get organized for the presentation.
"It should be interesting to see what happens." A pause. "Your son, I assume?"
Jay hesitated for only a moment with a side-long glance, then nodded, squinting into the sunlight with a half-smile. "Aye, he's my son. Didna get to raise him, but... half o' me, down there."
It felt strangely good to say that.
"Hm." The man nodded himself. "I imagine you're proud."
"Very."
That made the man chuckle, then he patted Jay on the back and started down the hill. "As you should be. And now, I am going to go see if your son either makes my theory, or breaks it."
Jay laughed, albeit quietly, staying back while Alejandro Perera went to go see his theory in practice.
When it was all said and done, Perera's theory was disproven. The next several hours, of course, were spent while the scientist picked the brain of the young engineer, and several Starfleet recruiters tried to get a word in edgewise.
Jay didn't get involved with any of it, just stayed back at a distance. But despite the fact that he kept mostly inconspicuous, he knew that Montgomery knew he was there. And, though he didn't really look forward to what would come next, he knew that Cait had spotted him too.
And while her son -- their son -- was busy telling everyone how he had done it, how he had disproven the Perera Field Theory, she broke off and came up. One part looking reproachful, a kind of petulance, one part looking guilty. All Cait. He didn't feel any old fires burning for her, more just a sort of pity that she hadn't really had it in her to get to know the child she was half responsible for either.
"I dinna expect..." she started, then trailed off, looking anywhere but at him.
"He doesna know," Jay replied, without bothering with any preambles, crossing his arms. "I dinna plan on tellin' him, either."
She looked relieved, and he felt a spike of bitterness at that expression. "It's for the best, aye," she said, more briskly.
"No," Jay said, cutting her off before she could say anything too close to a lie, tipping his head up a little. "It never was. But lemme tell ye somethin', Caitlyn: he's a good lad. And I'm hopin' those Starfleet recruiters take that idea I put in his head, and talk him into it." She gave him an angry, hurt look, but Jay couldn't really find it in himself to forgive her, anymore than he could forgive himself.
"Jay--" she started, rubbing her forehead.
"'No, Cait. Eventually, he's gonna find he's got a bit o' junkyard dog in him, even if he doesna know from where, and he's gonna decide on makin' his own path." Jay nodded, tossing one last glance down at the field, at the kid down there looking bright and happy as he chatterboxed at an old scientist, one who looked entirely pleased to have had his theory disproven by a sixteen-year-old. Then Jay turned around, walking away as he finished, "That's when he'll stop payin' for our bad decisions."
She didn't try to follow. And he didn't look back.
"Figured I'd pick up my engineer's mate certificate again," Jay explained, three weeks later. Cold and raining, as usual. And he was just boxing up the last of his things; the sign outside already had been changed. No McMillan, now it was just Winslow Salvage. "Head back to Deneva, see maybe if I can make it up to chief on a dyna-carrier. It’s good, honest work, and I liked it."
Montgomery nodded, hands behind his back as he watched. Jay thought maybe that would become his new favorite pose. "I put in my paperwork for Starfleet's pre-enlistment program. Been hearin' about it from Mum ever since, and the rest of 'em along with her."
"Aye, well, just remember what I told ye, a'right? Dinna let 'em tell ye what to do with yer life."
The lad nodded again, studying the desk-top thoughtfully.
Jay set the box on it, after a good look around to make sure he wasn't missing anything. "Winslow's got ye scheduled around yer classes. If ye need more time for coursework, dinna forget to tell him."
"Aye, sir."
Hard as saying goodbye was, Jay was fairly sure that the hardest part was over now. He didn't know why, so much; why there was some sad, but honest peace now that he was on his way back out of the kid's life. Not because he was leaving it, but maybe just because he was leaving it just a little better, having been even briefly a father, even if that was knowledge the lad didn't have and probably never would.
Jay smiled to himself and pulled the penlight he'd gotten out of his pocket, offering it over. "Here, ye'll likely need this at some point."
The lad took it, frowning a bit in surprise. Then he turned it on, testing it out and both of his eyebrows went up in appreciation -- it was a high end little light, strong enough to do most work, in the cramped or sometimes dark places engineers had to go. "I, uh..."
"Dinna quibble."
The kid didn't, despite looking like he wanted to, turning it back off and reading the text etched on the side. He raised an eyebrow, looking back up at Jay with a half-smile. "Junkyard Dog?" he asked, amused.
"A reminder. Ye know, in case ye make it to bein' a famous engineer, ye'll remember yer humble beginnings."
At the 'famous' part, the lad made a face. But he held onto the penlight regardless.
"All right, I have to go. Agent's comin' to pick up my bungalow keys, and I have to drop this box off on the Horizon Star," Jay said, pulling his coat on, and taking one more moment to regard his son.
It was a painful thing, the lad looking sorry that Jay was going. Not like he would if he knew the truth, of course, if Jay had spent the past sixteen and a half years raising him. But a sort of heartfelt sorrow regardless. It was a fairly grown-up look, stoic and well-controlled, more of a look at the man he would be in a short while, that Jay would likely never get to know.
But if there was a moment that made Jay feel grateful for even this time, it was when the kid gave him an awkward hug, impulsive and uncertain, one more look at the child he'd been before.
Jay held on back tight, as if he could memorize that moment. "Keep yer head up, son," he said, voice rough, past the emotion that made his throat hurt. And then he let go, heading out the door.
Montgomery Scott never knew just how much Jay McMillan had said, when he had said that.
But a couple of years later, Jay was hanging a picture sent by Winslow of a snappy looking Starfleet cadet, in black dress uniform just after Basic Training graduation, over his bunk on the dyna-carrier he was the Assistant Chief Engineer on, cruising the Denevan oceans.
And he never failed to smile, even if it was sometimes sadly, that the young man looking back had his chin tipped up in pride.