The transporter breaks while Spock is down on a hostile planet and Scotty panics. After the whole ordeal is over and Spock is unconscious in sickbay, Scotty doesn’t leave his side
(Excuse me while I fanfic)
This was Scotty’s least favorite part of his job. The uselessness. He’d never done well with idle hands, always had to be tinkering, fixing, doing something, or he went mad.
Things happened in space, things broke, stuff shut down at the worst possible time. And the transporters were a particularly notable example.
The planet below them was a Klingon occupied dilithium mine, and the thing that kept making Scotty panic was that he was supposed to be down there.
He’d been slated to go, but of course yesterday had been the day he’d fallen off a ladder and wrenched his shoulder. Leonard had pulled him off the landing party roster immidiately, Scotty had whined, saying that the ensigns would mess it up somehow-
Scotty should know better than to make teasing requests. Between Vulcanic intensity and human passion, Spock would pull down the stars for someone he loved if only they’d ask. Scotty had jokingly asked his husband to go and supervise, and Spock had placed himself on the roster and now the transporter was broken and he was still down there.
And the transporter glitch wasn’t even serious- just a recalibration. But that was worse in a way, because all Scotty could do was pace the transporter room and check the clock to see how much longer. The medical team was on standby, faces grim, and Spock was blocking the bond and Montgomery Scott was terrified-
The counsel finally beeped, and Scotty jumped into action, locked onto the signals in record time, and got everyone up in one masterful sweep.
Spock was leaning heavily against a panicked ensign, arm broken and eyes heavy as he fought the instincutual healing trance.
All Scotty could do was follow him to medbay. Useless.
Spock felt a pinch to his palm instead of a slap to wake him from his trance, and he knew immidiately who was next to him.
Montgomery clearly hadn’t slept, and his hands were shaking from overuse of caffeine. His hair was a mess- likely from running his hands through it, a sign that he needed a hair cut- and his lips were chapped from licking them.
“The next time I whine about not going on a landing party,” Montgomery began, “you have my explicit permission to tell future me to shut his gob.”
“I will do no such thing,” Spock protested, feeling tired and heavy, carefully testing his previously broken arm. “It isn’t your fault the transporter broke-“
“Didn’t break,” Montgomery muttered, “just needed recalibration. Old ass piece of space shite-“
“Adun,” Spock interrupted, shifting his hand in Montgomery’s grip to brush his fingers against his. “All is well.”
Montgomery sagged, letting out a breath he probably didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yeah,” he pressed a kiss to the back of spock’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Yeah.”
