"Mum an' Da?" Scotty prompted and watched the subtle fall of the young Scott's shoulders. He had no idea what this lad's life was like, nor even the other, older Scott's.
"Well," Scotty prefaced and tried to keep up his smile. He tried to formulate something, anything, but he had no basis from which to work. He hadn't the faintest what kind of story to tell to make the lad perk up, or if he should. With a hesitant drum of his fingers, he decided to go with the truth.
"I cannae remember it all," Scotty prefaced, "but they weren't there so much."
He stared off at the space just behind the lad, trying to focus and assign his memories years, but it was difficult, complex work. "I can only remember right an' clear after I were about five, leastwise tha's what it seems ta' be.
"They set me off, 'ere an there, for a long time--then, one day, when me Nan an her old Birds were playi'n some game," Scotty's brow furrowed over his distant gaze, "Weren't tha' first time I saw it, but I cannae remember 'afore." He wasn't sure why he'd added it, but it had seemed a prudent fact to point out.
"They came tae' git me an were hollarin' over sommat." Scotty frowned. "Nan sent them right out. She kept me a fortnight or so--an I wasnae' a bit chuffed ta' be there."
Scotty glanced, a little worriedly, at the young man he was telling all this to. Briefly, he considered stopping--what if this lad had better parents than he? What if he never knew them? What if they died when he was young? A thousand doubts flitted by, and Scotty tried not to let them show as he took a drink of his tea.
"After tha' they were cool, but didnae fight." Scotty was summarizing now, but he wanted this to be over quickly, before his nerves halted him altogether. "They ne'er agreed ta' owt, not less' Nan' or me Uncles were there. But they were good, kind in their own way, just not very...."
He was at a loss for the word, and searching didn't much help. He stared at the sad young man and an honest frown crept across his face, "Sorry it couldnae' be a better story." He forced his concern back with a light smirk and drummed the table again. "I tell better ones when I'm drinkin' somethin' a bit stronger."
He didn't pick his head up from his tea, though he was very clearly listening to every word. Even though there was just as much tension that suggested he wanted to bolt at every single word, too. Regardless, he managed to stay put.
Later, he would probably blame this on tea. Or being sick. Or, rather, he would try to and still have to face up honestly that this was the first time he'd ever said any of this aloud. But then again, it wasn't every day you were talking to another you. And it was very, very hard to keep secrets from yourself, though he held some in reserve even then.
"They weren't there." He took a slow sip of tea, then went back to holding the mug two handed. "They dinna fight, an' they were married, but Mum kept her career an' my father kept his, an' they dinna see much o' each other. An' I... ye ken, aunts an' uncles an' my Granda once, afore he died. An' hired caretakers, plenty o' those. Mum was home some more after my sister was born, but..." He made a face, very firmly directed at himself. "I suppose it doesna much matter."
There was silence for a long moment and Scotty blinked. He'd absorbed all the information, but he couldn't manage to wrap his head around that last part. His voice was lighter and a little disbelieving as he spoke.
"Yae...ya' have a sister?" Scotty asked quietly, his tea forgotten.
Scotty blinked at him, his expression blank and tinged with confusion. His eyes darted to the wall behind the young Scott and a tightness pulled as his eyes and mouth briefly. It was the same expression he often wore while contemplating the best way to save the ship, or the parts they'd have to jettison to prevent it from exploding.
After several seconds, he picked up his tea and shook his head. "Nae," he said and pushed his thoughts back as he focused his attention in the here and now, "Nae I dunnae have a sister."
He looked at the younger Scott and his eyebrows pulled up toward his hairline. "Did ya' know yer's well?"
He watched the other Scott go off to that more distant look for a moment, trying to gauge if he'd accidentally gone and stepped over a line he shouldn't have. But it didn't seem so much unsettled as thoughtful.
The returned question was a bit harder to answer, even if he'd been more on the asking side of this conversation than the answering side of it, and probably owed it. He took another sip of tea, trying to figure out how to word that, then gave it a shot. "Clara Alice Stuart... named fer a pair o' my father's great-aunts. Callie. She was born when I was nae quite six, but almost, an'... I guess I knew her and didna at the same time, if that makes sense." He couldn't explain really, what that meant.
He wasn't typically prone to nostalgia, but it was kind of hard not to really notice all of your regrets when you're sitting well outside of your life, and convinced like someone who lives by moments only can be that you'll never see it again.
Another sip of tea, and he continued, looking off past the floor and past everything again, "She was all fair hair, an' blue eyes when she was a wee bairn, an' she'd toddle 'round after me, gettin' inta everythin' I was tryin' t' keep neat. An' she'd make a mess o' it, then laugh, an' I couldna stay mad no matter how hard I tried.
"I guess I dinna understand her, nae once past we grew a bit more, but I love her. I mean, even when we canna stand each other, an' all I want t'do is get away from her an' Mum an' Aberdeen, I never forget when she'd sit there laughin', an' then get me laughin' too when I wanted t' be mad. We havena gotten along in years, but... I canna just forget, either."
Didn't even realize the present tense. Convinced or not. And probably didn't realize that whatever thing that made him a good brother, at least then, was probably tied to the same thing that had him talking now.
Scotty listened with rapt attention and, by the end of it, a pseudo-smile had crept into his confusion. He debated about poking fun at the lad--telling him that he was apt to start missing her if he went on--but he dismissed the idea, choosing instead to nod and take a sip of his tea.
Well, he would have, had the cup not come up empty and left him a little startled. With an explosive, voiceless laugh, he set it down on the table and pushed it clear of himself. Now, without something, Scotty leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, casually, across his chest.
"Aye," Scotty agreed to nothing in particular. There was very little he could say here, very little that wouldn't be inadvertently cruel, despite how much he wanted to say. After a beat, he broke the silence and changed the subject.
"Were ya' lookin' forward ta' Command?" Scotty asked, honestly interested. It was an important difference--one of a few, apparently, and Scotty was notably interested.
Silence was something he always appreciated; words were overrated, and could be the worst blade in the universe. And the more well-intentioned, the sharper they could be, if they were thoughtless or careless -- better nothing, if not the right ones.
The simple 'Aye' made him breathe out a sigh of relief he hadn't even known he was holding, and he practically uncoiled on the table, not really making eye-contact. Just resting his head sideways on his bent elbow, on the table; a very... childish pose he wasn't quite aware was. Not in a bad way, just a funny thing from someone so hell bent on being all grown up. "Nae. Nae in th' least. Mum didna want me t' go inta Starfleet at all; she was livid when I said I was gonna. None of 'em did. But after she realized I wasna gonna give that up, she started pushin' me t' at least go inta Command. She never thought much o' Engineering."
"Nae, she ne'er really did," Scotty agreed with a thoughtful shrug. Idly, he recalled the Scott who'd figured the Trans-warp Beaming equation and wondered if his mother disliked Engineers as well.
"Say, lad," Scotty said and cocked his head to the side ever-so slightly, "It's been vexin' me, how was it tha' ya managed ta' shimmy about an' not git picked up by tha' internals?" In all the rush and panic he'd hardly had time to sleep, let alone sit around and figure out how a teenager avoided all of security on a Starship.
"I rigged a tricorder I nicked from sickbay." He picked his head up and rested his chin on his arm, loosely, looking up at the other Scott. "It's nae too hard; ye pry it open an' switch a few wires around so instead o' pullin' information in, it's sendin' it out. It masks biosigns; had t' come up with that idea out on an exercise in Basic, t' hide the rest o' my squad from who was trackin' us."
He pulled himself off of the table, reaching down and pulling the tricorder out of the toolkit. They weren't desperately sturdy things; not like the metal and black hardware of his own universe. Well, some are, the kind that need to be able to handle major battering, but this wasn't one.
He pried the case open with his fingernails and a bit of a wince, explaining, "Medical tricorders are th' best; they're already keyed t' pull in biosigns, so th' interference they put out is better at cover. But any'll do, to varyin' degrees." There was a long pause there, and he frowned briefly at the older Scotty. "Ye'll keep all this atween us, right? I mean, it's a good trick, and I dinna wanna lose it."
Scotty all but snorted as he leaned forward to get a better look at the younger Scott's tinkering.
"Are ya' daft?" he asked quietly, "An' give up somethin' this champion?" He shook his head and eyed the tricorder. "Nae, lad, this stays wit' us an' tha table."
He gave a quick grin back, then went back to it; it really was more like controlled-breakage than actual engineering. Using the inherent ability of any device that operates with electricity to put out interference if it's not properly handled or shielded. "I dinna ken if it'd work against transporters, given th' sheer resolution o' those sensors, but internals are nae near so strong." He crossed three different sets of wires, gingerly; it didn't destroy the device, though it rendered it useless for its primary function: Namely, to scan. "The cover radius is only 'bout six feet square, an' my squad got caught eventually because it drains power faster an' they died on us, but we held 'em off for a record amount o' time."
Scotty smirked, just a little wickedly, at that, pushing the rigged tricorder over without looking away from it. "A whole slew o' seasoned security officers."
As the lad pulled and tweaked the internals of the device, Scotty's eyes widened and he tried not to speak--it was quite like watching a cat chew on electrical chords. The lad seemed so proud of his ingenuity and, apparently, completely unaware that the tricoder he was holding had a split dilithium battery--same as the replicators on the ship.
"Aye?" Scotty prompted as he examined the two export and the sensor feed wires he'd crossed.
"I'd believe it," Scotty added and gingerly lifted the handheld off the table. It was a solid plan, if not a bit like sticking a fork in a socket--it was no wonder he'd fried the lights when he'd rigged it against a PADD. Scotty was lucky he hadn't thrown out the registration unit on those decks and rendered the half the PADDs on board worthless.
"'S a good plan," Scotty admitted and set the tricorder back down. "I ne'er would have thought tae' do it." He looked up at the lad, "Did yae' cross tha' phaser batteries ta' extend tha life, or didnae they give ya weapons fer' tha games?"
"Well," Scotty prefaced and tried to keep up his smile. He tried to formulate something, anything, but he had no basis from which to work. He hadn't the faintest what kind of story to tell to make the lad perk up, or if he should. With a hesitant drum of his fingers, he decided to go with the truth.
"I cannae remember it all," Scotty prefaced, "but they weren't there so much."
He stared off at the space just behind the lad, trying to focus and assign his memories years, but it was difficult, complex work. "I can only remember right an' clear after I were about five, leastwise tha's what it seems ta' be.
"They set me off, 'ere an there, for a long time--then, one day, when me Nan an her old Birds were playi'n some game," Scotty's brow furrowed over his distant gaze, "Weren't tha' first time I saw it, but I cannae remember 'afore." He wasn't sure why he'd added it, but it had seemed a prudent fact to point out.
"They came tae' git me an were hollarin' over sommat." Scotty frowned. "Nan sent them right out. She kept me a fortnight or so--an I wasnae' a bit chuffed ta' be there."
Scotty glanced, a little worriedly, at the young man he was telling all this to. Briefly, he considered stopping--what if this lad had better parents than he? What if he never knew them? What if they died when he was young? A thousand doubts flitted by, and Scotty tried not to let them show as he took a drink of his tea.
"After tha' they were cool, but didnae fight." Scotty was summarizing now, but he wanted this to be over quickly, before his nerves halted him altogether. "They ne'er agreed ta' owt, not less' Nan' or me Uncles were there. But they were good, kind in their own way, just not very...."
He was at a loss for the word, and searching didn't much help. He stared at the sad young man and an honest frown crept across his face, "Sorry it couldnae' be a better story." He forced his concern back with a light smirk and drummed the table again. "I tell better ones when I'm drinkin' somethin' a bit stronger."
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Later, he would probably blame this on tea. Or being sick. Or, rather, he would try to and still have to face up honestly that this was the first time he'd ever said any of this aloud. But then again, it wasn't every day you were talking to another you. And it was very, very hard to keep secrets from yourself, though he held some in reserve even then.
"They weren't there." He took a slow sip of tea, then went back to holding the mug two handed. "They dinna fight, an' they were married, but Mum kept her career an' my father kept his, an' they dinna see much o' each other. An' I... ye ken, aunts an' uncles an' my Granda once, afore he died. An' hired caretakers, plenty o' those. Mum was home some more after my sister was born, but..." He made a face, very firmly directed at himself. "I suppose it doesna much matter."
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"Yae...ya' have a sister?" Scotty asked quietly, his tea forgotten.
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After several seconds, he picked up his tea and shook his head. "Nae," he said and pushed his thoughts back as he focused his attention in the here and now, "Nae I dunnae have a sister."
He looked at the younger Scott and his eyebrows pulled up toward his hairline. "Did ya' know yer's well?"
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The returned question was a bit harder to answer, even if he'd been more on the asking side of this conversation than the answering side of it, and probably owed it. He took another sip of tea, trying to figure out how to word that, then gave it a shot. "Clara Alice Stuart... named fer a pair o' my father's great-aunts. Callie. She was born when I was nae quite six, but almost, an'... I guess I knew her and didna at the same time, if that makes sense." He couldn't explain really, what that meant.
He wasn't typically prone to nostalgia, but it was kind of hard not to really notice all of your regrets when you're sitting well outside of your life, and convinced like someone who lives by moments only can be that you'll never see it again.
Another sip of tea, and he continued, looking off past the floor and past everything again, "She was all fair hair, an' blue eyes when she was a wee bairn, an' she'd toddle 'round after me, gettin' inta everythin' I was tryin' t' keep neat. An' she'd make a mess o' it, then laugh, an' I couldna stay mad no matter how hard I tried.
"I guess I dinna understand her, nae once past we grew a bit more, but I love her. I mean, even when we canna stand each other, an' all I want t'do is get away from her an' Mum an' Aberdeen, I never forget when she'd sit there laughin', an' then get me laughin' too when I wanted t' be mad. We havena gotten along in years, but... I canna just forget, either."
Didn't even realize the present tense. Convinced or not. And probably didn't realize that whatever thing that made him a good brother, at least then, was probably tied to the same thing that had him talking now.
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Well, he would have, had the cup not come up empty and left him a little startled. With an explosive, voiceless laugh, he set it down on the table and pushed it clear of himself. Now, without something, Scotty leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, casually, across his chest.
"Aye," Scotty agreed to nothing in particular. There was very little he could say here, very little that wouldn't be inadvertently cruel, despite how much he wanted to say. After a beat, he broke the silence and changed the subject.
"Were ya' lookin' forward ta' Command?" Scotty asked, honestly interested. It was an important difference--one of a few, apparently, and Scotty was notably interested.
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The simple 'Aye' made him breathe out a sigh of relief he hadn't even known he was holding, and he practically uncoiled on the table, not really making eye-contact. Just resting his head sideways on his bent elbow, on the table; a very... childish pose he wasn't quite aware was. Not in a bad way, just a funny thing from someone so hell bent on being all grown up. "Nae. Nae in th' least. Mum didna want me t' go inta Starfleet at all; she was livid when I said I was gonna. None of 'em did. But after she realized I wasna gonna give that up, she started pushin' me t' at least go inta Command. She never thought much o' Engineering."
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"Say, lad," Scotty said and cocked his head to the side ever-so slightly, "It's been vexin' me, how was it tha' ya managed ta' shimmy about an' not git picked up by tha' internals?" In all the rush and panic he'd hardly had time to sleep, let alone sit around and figure out how a teenager avoided all of security on a Starship.
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He pried the case open with his fingernails and a bit of a wince, explaining, "Medical tricorders are th' best; they're already keyed t' pull in biosigns, so th' interference they put out is better at cover. But any'll do, to varyin' degrees." There was a long pause there, and he frowned briefly at the older Scotty. "Ye'll keep all this atween us, right? I mean, it's a good trick, and I dinna wanna lose it."
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"Are ya' daft?" he asked quietly, "An' give up somethin' this champion?" He shook his head and eyed the tricorder. "Nae, lad, this stays wit' us an' tha table."
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Scotty smirked, just a little wickedly, at that, pushing the rigged tricorder over without looking away from it. "A whole slew o' seasoned security officers."
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"Aye?" Scotty prompted as he examined the two export and the sensor feed wires he'd crossed.
"I'd believe it," Scotty added and gingerly lifted the handheld off the table. It was a solid plan, if not a bit like sticking a fork in a socket--it was no wonder he'd fried the lights when he'd rigged it against a PADD. Scotty was lucky he hadn't thrown out the registration unit on those decks and rendered the half the PADDs on board worthless.
"'S a good plan," Scotty admitted and set the tricorder back down. "I ne'er would have thought tae' do it." He looked up at the lad, "Did yae' cross tha' phaser batteries ta' extend tha life, or didnae they give ya weapons fer' tha games?"
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