Here I Sit Like a Beginner

Scotty glanced up when a young man glided into the room. And while he had known few Romulans, he knew Vulcans well enough to see the difference. It was astonishing what nearly eight decades could do, whether turning the faces of enemies to friends, or transforming a dusty refugee camp into a towering New Vulcan city.

The Romulan set a tray down on the table. “The Ambassador sends his apologies for the delay. He will join you shortly, but suggested you might enjoy tea?”

“Aye, thank yeh,” Scott said, and the lad stepped aside politely, but remained. It wasn’t quite his granny’s tea service, but it wasn’t quite a Vulcan one either. Either way, he knew his way around a cuppa well enough. He’d had tea on dozens—maybe hundreds—of planets, and somehow, although the flavors and rituals were different, it always felt like coming home. His breath disturbed the faint steam, and he closed his eyes, the smell alone enough to pierce him straight through. He knew the blend; Nyota’s favorite.

He knew what this was. And if the testing hurt, it was understandable. That Spock agreed, though … He sipped the tea and tried not to shiver; he’d have to have a word with them about the actual temperature of human climate comfort. Unless it was part of the test too.

The door opened, and he didn’t bother to turn. He didn’t know if it was the step, the scent, the weight of presence. But if they were going to play these games then—

“Ambassador Spock,” he said, without moving.

“Admiral,” Spock replied. His voice was lower, rougher. Aged. Scotty turned then, and didn’t hide the emotions he couldn’t name. A too-large swallow of tea returned his control.

“A posthumous rank,” Scotty complained, rolling his eyes with the expected theatrics.

“Nevertheless,” Spock said.

“Would you care for some of Nyota’s favorite tea?” he asked pointedly, going very intentionally for the barb that Spock’s young companion, and anyone else watching, wouldn’t hear.

Spock did, and his face twitched very slightly, absorbing the blow, the chastisement, and the message: I know what this is.

“Nyota told me, near the end, that she believed you were still alive,” Spock said. “I humored her gently. She would have been delighted to tell me ‘I told you so.’”

Scotty had to put the tea down, his hands trembling, because he’d somehow forgotten that Spock could be brutal.

“I know why they brought me tae you. Just do it, Mr. Spock,” he snapped. Across the room, the young Romulan, who had not been following the undercurrents, blinked in surprise at what must have seemed like an abrupt change in tone.

Spock arched a brow. “If you are not Scott, you are a very convincing copy. The Federation suspects that you are. If so, I will see you exposed for this desecration,” Spock said, fury cracking under his mild tone. Then his affect shifted, in grief and hope. “If you are him, however … I would not have you live under their suspicion. Montgomery Scott’s mind possessed telepathic anchors I placed there, so Nyota and I could stand with him when the storms came.” He lifted his hand toward Scotty’s face. “Will you consent?”

“Aye, sir,” Scotty said softly. “Of course.”

He shivered when Spock touched him, and it wasn’t the chill. He couldn’t say how much time passed, but was weeping when he opened his eyes. He reached for his tea, which had gone cold, and then dared look up at Spock, who looked stricken.

“How long did I miss her by?” Scotty asked softly, the cold tea helping bring his voice under control.

“Six months,” Spock managed. “Nyota died six months ago.”

His vision seemed to short out, possibly a symptom of so long in the transporter, and he clenched the teacup in his hand until Spock took it from him. “This was her set. Please do not break it.”

“I grieve with thee, Mr. Spock,” he whispered.

“And I with thee,” Spock said, nearly in his ear. Then the venerable Vulcan straightened. “Starfleet has implied they want you back. But if you are amiable, Mr. Scott—we still have much work to do.”

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Comments

SLWalker Wed 13 Sep 2023 08:53PM UTC

Whew, the tension in this one! That's such a mysterious (and potentially devastating) time, in your timeline. I know that mine wasn't all that invested in living when he went into the transporter, and mostly was doing it for Matt Franklin's sake, but I don't know that the same could be said for yours, given what he was doing out there. (Which was, IIRC, not retiring!)
This is all sharp edges. The whole testing thing, which seems half-cruel, though aye, as Scotty reflects, it's understandable. The how, by using the favorite tea blend of an extraordinary women they both loved. Pfft, Admiral. Adore this line:
“A posthumous rank,” Scotty complained, rolling his eyes with the expected theatrics. In another timeline, either a brother or a lover would remark in answer to the eye-roll, "Melodrama." It's played up, put on, but not dishonest.
The way they sort of slice and dice one another, though, whew. Like, it's subtle and build on a whole language they worked out between them over the many long years: They know exactly how to twist the knives. I'd be fascinated to see what Spock saw in Scotty's head someday, because you absolutely do get the impression that post multiversal crossover, when yours is stabilized, there probably was either very little or no mental contact thereafter. So, in some ways he would be intimately familiar, but in others-- maybe not so much. There's a line in The Stand (one of my favorite novels, just for the epicness and atmosphere) where the mother of one of the main characters said there's something in him like biting on tin foil.
I imagine there is something in Scotty, after all he's lived, that's like running into a steel wall.
Anyway, this is properly emotional and aching, the last bars of their conversation are just-- ouch. And given I know how they come to say goodbye, it's all even more poignant.

Last Edited Wed 13 Sep 2023 08:54PM UTC

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1. daraoakwise Wed 13 Sep 2023 09:56PM UTC
  
  I think the hard times for mine are very much behind him, mental health wise. The multiversal encounter is incredibly stabilizing, and he proceeds to spend the rest of his career and life making Starfleet crazy, absolutely a steel wall, and even more so now that he’s gone stable. He was working on the Romulan supernova project when he went missing. He wanted to live. Didn’t think he would, mind, but it was a shot, and your pattern just fading is better than suffocating.
  The expected melodrama. Like you said, a bit put-on, but not dishonest. It’s in them both. Friends and lovers see it in them. they know they do, and sometimes put in on because it is expected.
  I do think that the mental contact with Spock and Nyota stopped, because Scotty didn’t need it anymore, and because he was so often gone. So it’s been—maybe a 100+ years for Spock since he stepped into that particular mind. A strange intimacy in that, familiar but not—probably changed as well.
  They would be barbed, I think, until Spock is satisfied. As far as Spock is concerned, this is an imposter, and someone playing a game that enrages him. How dare you disturb his soul, and so soon after Nyota died?!? Scotty sees the mistrust, and it puts his hackles straight up. So they punch at each other, very hard, as only they know how, with a very subtle bit of knife-twisting. I think the next ten or so years until their final parting are—hard, for them both. But also somehow a kind of comfort.
  I wonder, sometimes, about the possible encounter yours may have had with his Spock. Whether some Federation official slid up to Spock after and asked: “was it really him?” And although there wouldn’t be the mental contact, the entirely scathing look Spock would give them, because Spock absolutely recognizes him: “of course it was.”
  Thanks for the comment. I wandered around lost on even getting started on this one. And suddenly at 10 pm I went Ah!!!
  
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Planxty Thu 14 Sep 2023 08:33PM UTC

Oh god this is heartbreaking!

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1. daraoakwise Thu 14 Sep 2023 08:53PM UTC
  
  In my writing of events, AOS Scotty and TOS Scotty have similar fates and it’s—hard. Thanks for your note!
  
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