Chapter 2: Scotty and Keenser

Chapter 2: Scotty and Keenser

There are many times of the day that Keenser loves.  Popping out of bed in the morning for a cup of tea and a buttery, trailing after Scotty as he tours his ship and grumbles to him about what needs doing and what should have been done better, squeezing into the tight spaces and high places that the Human can't reach to check, clean, repair, and maintain, then popping back into bed after a good dinner and a drink or two.  But the best time of all is lunch, when they retreat to Scotty's office, prop their feet up on his desk, eat their meals, and chew the fat.  Or rather, Scotty chews while Keenser listens, each perfectly satisfied with the arrangement.

Even in the wake of the Vengeance incident (as Keenser calls it; Scotty prefers not to lay blame on the ship herself but rather on the daft buggers that constructed and subsequently destroyed her), the rhythm of their days is largely the same, busy without being frenetic, soothing without being boring.  There is not much cleaning and maintaining to be done now that the warp and impulse engines are shut down indefinitely, their repairs postponed until the hull -- missing in several places, like tender skin peeled away, the remainder scorched and burned and needing to be peeled away too, eventually -- is restored.  Rather it is the overwhelming amount of damage to catalog and debris to clear away that occupies their time.  And Scotty is sighing more than he's grumbling these days, putting his hand on every dent and bruise they can find, as though he were trying to comfort the ship and will her to heal.  Keenser aches to see his face sag at those times, the way your own guts drop when you see someone else take a sucker punch.  Together they do their best to clear her decks of the rubbish that used to be cargo, components, equipment, furniture, even people, and Keenser does his best to keep Scotty's spirits up, humming along to his tuneless songs, nodding in agreement even to things he doesn't agree with, and pretending not to notice that Scotty has, for the third day in a row, left out the horseradish in his grilled roast beef and Stilton sandwich.

 

***

 

Even so, lunch is still his favorite time of the day.  So he found it rather an unwelcome disruption when, on that third day of the cleaning process, their congenial midday meal was interrupted by Mr. Spock.  

Scotty's look of surprise when their commanding officer entered his office quickly gave way to one of apology as he pulled his feet off the desk and swept bread crumbs into the waste container, then wiped his hands on his black tee shirt.  Spock shook his head slightly to indicate the effort was unnecessary; Keenser interpreted the gesture as permission to keep his feet right where they were. 

"Mr. Scott.  I would like to offer my services to you, in whatever way you deem necessary for the rapid repair and redeployment of this ship."

Scotty's jaw dropped.  Keenser glared.

"Uh...Well, aye, sir, thank you, uh, there's certainly a lot yet to do..." Scotty stammered.  "But, begging your pardon, I'm sure you have more important things to do, so, bureaucratic things and the like, don't you now?  More important things than fixing up this poor lass, eh?"

"Indeed, I do not."

"Well now, wouldn't you rather tend to the science lab?  It must be a fair mess, what with..."

"I completed the clearing of the science lab forty-nine minutes ago.  My efforts are no longer required there."

Keenser glared some more. He knew, as did everyone else on the skeleton crew, that their captain was at that moment in a coma at Starfleet Medical, his life but not his consciousness restored, their own ship's doctor in continual attendance to the point of exhaustion, and here stood a man who would claim to be his friend but who apparently would rather spend his time mucking about on a crippled ship than tending to his injured colleague.  Were Scotty in that condition, there would be nothing that could induce Keenser to leave his side.  

Scotty had evidently decided to be more charitable than his friend as he gave the first officer another chance to reconsider his choice.  

"Och, well, shouldn't you take a moment to stop in on the captain, you know, see how he's doing and whatnot?"

"Dr. McCoy and the rest of the staff on duty are providing for the captain's medical needs, and the good doctor is updating me at regular intervals as to his status.  My presence there would serve no purpose."

The captain would be well served to find himself a different sort of friend, Keenser decided, and kept his feet defiantly planted on Scotty's desk. But Scotty finally nodded, if a bit stiffly, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"All right then, you can help with getting rid of the scrap we're tearing out of Engineering.  We're stacking it in the cargo bays for sorting and sending out for recycling or repair or disposal.  So you can take your pick -- do you want to carry scrap to the holding areas or sort it once it's there?"

"I have no preference, but you may find it more useful for me to transport the scrap.  I am able to manage items too heavy for Humans to carry."

A quick mental calculation revealed that Spock could easily double the rate at which they were clearing the rubbish from the Engineering section by freeing up antigravs and pairs of hands.  Scotty was sold.

"Good, well, let's get started.  Keenser here will show you what items need to go now, and we'll keep tagging the other things as we come across them."

Now Keenser was glaring at Scotty.

 

***

 

Scotty had to admit that Spock was the best crewman he had ever had.  Not just that he was absurdly strong and could work two shifts straight without tiring, he also made no move whatsoever to countermand any of Scotty's directives or second-guess any of his decisions.  If Scotty wanted it done, it was done, Spock's only interest seeming to be how expeditiously It could be accomplished. Once the scrap was cleared (a weeks-long task, Scotty had predicted, that took only six days), Spock devoted himself to the crude repairs that required no particular engineering expertise but did require diligence and patience, both of which he seemed to have in abundance.  Over the past week and a half, they had made so much progress in Engineering that the architects and engineers were already aboard, taking holos and measurements for the redesign of the impulse engines.  Scotty calculated that, taking into account the rate at which the hull repair was proceeding, the impulse engine refit would be complete within at most six months, perhaps four with Spock's help.

But the best-laid schemes, as the poet says, gang aft agley.

"Maybe I'm just being a stupid loon," he joked to Keenser that morning, "but I'm thinking maybe we should keep Mr. Spock on as a permanent addition to the Engineering crew.  Think he'd look fine in a red shirt, do you?"

They were in the shuttlebay, where Keenser was prying out one of the many damaged magnetic shuttle latches from the deck.  He looked up at Scotty sourly.

"Nay, you're right, red's not his color," Scotty mused.  "But you've got to admit, he makes a hell of a mechanic."

Keenser didn't give two shits either way.

The doors to the shuttlebay parted as Spock entered, spotted them, and approached, a large and obviously heavy piece of equipment in his arms.  Scotty marveled that he could carry it at all.

"Mr. Scott, I removed this plasma exhaust manifold with the intent of repairing it, but upon examination, I suspect it should be replaced instead," he said as he approached the pair.  "If you would inspect the intake assembly you will note..."

He paused. Scotty waited expectantly as Keenser ostentatiously ignored both of them in favor of the magnetic latch.

Several seconds passed with Spock frozen in mid-sentence.  Then, a loud crash, and an earsplitting scream from Keenser.

Scotty would later remark to Keenser, as he lay bandaged in Sickbay, that it was as though Spock were staring at nought but the air.  "And it wasna so much that he dropped the manifold but that he just stopped holding on to it, if you take my meaning.  Either way, that manifold was a weighty thing, and it did fair damage to the deck when he dropped it, but that was nought compared to what it did to you, for you were right at his feet when he let the damned thing go.  That manifold scored you right down your wee leg, and quite a cry you made about it too, but it was like Mr. Spock didna even hear you, you poor scamp.  Then I started in on him to watch where the hell he was treading, and I made about as much noise as I could for I was quite angry with him and his high-flown manner, but it was like a spit in the sea for all the good it did.  He just stood there, his face as blank as a piece of letter paper, like he didna even hear us, and you still yowling like a weanie.  Then he says, calmly as you please, 'I regret, Mr. Scott, that I will be unable to assist you further.'  Then he up and leaves the bay!  Just like that!  And no one's seen hide nor hair of him on the ship since.  The heartless bastard, I wouldna wish him on my worst enemy."

He downed the contents of his shot glass before refreshing their drinks.

"Och, but I'll miss having his arse in Engineering, I can tell you that."
 

 

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Fic: Companion | Star Trek Reboot/AOS | NC-17

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Chapter 1: Jim

Chapter 1: Jim

I can't remember ever feeling this incredibly happy. 

Deliriously happy, like I'm weightless on my own feet and could run forever, never getting tired or thirsty or winded, just running for the pure joy of running, on and on.  And I'm running through the ship -- my ship -- and I know every curve and corner and Jefferies tube and conduit, every ladder and lift and door and panel, and I run by each of them and know them by name, call them by name, and she answers me, knowing she is mine and I am hers. And there is damage and there are scars and broken places but we both know they will heal, in time.  And I'm weightless on my feet, my feet aren't even hitting the decks but are still somehow propelling me along, faster and faster until the corridors flow by in a mingling of colors, growing brighter until everything is white and brilliant and pure joy. And I throw my arms out, my feet still flying, and I yell, shout, scream in absurd happiness, flying through my beautiful bright ship, all the colors merged into one blinding whiteness...

And I think, I want to go to the bridge, where I belong.  

And just like that, I'm there in an instant, not flying anymore but just looking out at the bridge from the turbolift, and I can't step out.  Suddenly my feet won't move, like they're glued in place, and there's a hazy boundary, like a wall of transparent jelly between me and the bridge that I can't pass through.  And the white fades back into separate colors and I can see the movement of red, blue, and gold, can hear the hum and the beeps and the whistles, the flicker of the viewscreen, but I can't pass through, my feet won't move, my arm won't rise, my hand won't reach out through that jelly between me and them.  And they're all hazy, all my people, I call them by name but they don't answer me, they don't hear me, and I try to reach out my hand through that jelly but it won't move, my arm won't rise.  And no one sees me, no one turns to me, no one knows I'm there, and they're all indistinct, all blurred through that wall of jelly that I can't pass through.

And I think, Does anyone know I'm here?

And he turns, a patch of blue and black, and he sees me, and he comes toward me.  And I see him, not blurred anymore, like the rest, but clear.  And my feet unglue themselves to move to him, my arm can rise, my hand reaches for him, and he turns to me, his blue and his black, and he sees me, he knows me, he knows I'm there, and he smiles more brightly than my beautiful bright ship, more brightly than anything I've ever seen.  And his eyes are laughing, his hand reaches for my face as he laughs, my hand reaches for his waist, and we fit together, knowing he is mine and I am his.  And I know there is damage and there are scars and broken places but they will heal, in time.  And he is laughing against my shoulder as his hands pull at my hair, and I bury my face in his neck as my hands press against his back.

And he thinks, Welcome home.

And I am happier than I ever remember being in my entire fucking life.

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