Intro: In the last one I ended with a twist, and you are all worried about Scotty. Here is that worry in the reader.
A little bit of angst in this one, a love letter, a lot of worry.
Pairing: Scotty x reader (and best friend!Jim Kirk)
Word Count: 1,938
Warnings: totally 100% fake engineering everything, (I was too lazy to actually come up with proper terms so I just made up words), eventual injury, swears.
Summary: The starting point for this fic was Scotty x reader who loves engineering as much as he does. So that’s where I went with this fic. You are second-in-command engineer and Scotty one day ends up being in charge, much to your chagrin. You butt heads. Scotty gets hurt. Feelings get hurt (mostly my own). Welcome to my trashcan.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
-Enjoy!-
On your shift the day after you had stayed up far too late with Scotty, you were informed that he would be going on an away mission to assist in repairing a ship, and you were to stay behind and be the acting chief of engineering.
"Not that I don't basically run this ship on my own anyway." You snorted to yourself as you snapped your com shut, thinking that if Scotty was here he would have shook his head and gave you one of his teasing smiles.
Thinking of that put a smile on your face as you began your shift, excited to be in charge.
The next two days left you less excited to be in charge, as you quickly missed Scotty's witty banter and your heated debates about the details of the ship.
You were lounging around Scotty's workbench on the third day that he was gone, the ship running smoothly, and you had everyone kept busy making sure it stayed that way.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, a piece of paper, tucked into the drawer of the very messy workstation. But that wasn't what caught your attention, it was your name, written in the corner of the paper in Scotty's barely legible script. You couldn't help your curiosity as you reached for it, quickly glancing around the room, as if Scotty was going to suddenly show up and berate you for snooping.
The paper itself looked like it had been through the washing machine, crumpled and stained, maybe at on point a page of a note book, torn out. The words were written in pencil, and you were right, it was your name written in the corner.
Dear Y/N,
You are one of the most infuriating, stubborn, quick-witted people I have ever met. I don't know how we made it through the first week of working together. I thought one of us was going to kill the other.
But once you got your head out of your ass. Once we started to get along, we were actually able to work together, and were finally able to put both of our big brains together and get stuff done.
You snorted as you read on:
And I'm sorry for yelling at you. I know I already told you that, but I really am. I am especially sorry for dismissing you that first week. I know you probably don't care that much but I regret pulling rank and turning on you like that. I just couldn't stand you looking at me with such hatred and contempt, like I was just some stiff old guy that was getting in your way. It nearly killed me.
Because if you looked at me like that, I would never stand a chance.
Because I am enthralled by you.
You stopped breathing.
Which is why I am writing all this stuff down rather than saying it to your face. But you'll never read this because I would probably die of embarrassment. Because when I look at you, my brain goes haywire. I lose all ability to coherently form a sentence. Maybe that's why I tease you so much, because anything else would come out as gibberish and you would think me a mad old fool.
It scares me, the way I feel about you, it makes me want to turn and run. Because I don't deserve someone as fierce and intelligent and beautiful as you. But sometimes, the way you smile at me, it gives me hope, like you might harbour feelings for me too, but it's only fleeting, and the next moment you are yelling at me or teasing me or nearly zapping me with a live wire.
So, if you ever do read this, just know that I loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. And every moment since.
Yours, Montgomery
You were an idiot.
The overhead com system sounded: Dr. McCoy to the medbay, immediately.
Your heart dropped in your chest. For some reason you knew exactly what the call was for. And you were on your feet and dashing down the hallway before you could stop yourself, stuffing the letter into your pocket.
Skidding into the medbay, you were met with a cacophony of chaos, people running around everywhere, yelling, and machines were beeping and you could see flashes of injuries from the people lying on the biobeds. Your heart was racing in your chest as you looked for, and dreading finding, the familiar red shirt and whispy brown hair that belonged to Scotty.
A biobed slammed into your elbow and careened by, being pushed by a group of nurses, the red shirt making you take a second look, but it wasn't Scotty.
Suddenly, a flash of familiar command gold appeared in the medbay and you stalked right up to him.
"Jim, what happened?" You demanded almost breathlessly.
"Away mission gone wrong, the building that they were in was invaded, there were a lot of... casualties." Jim explained, his eyes barely meeting yours and he began to stalk past you but you grabbed his arm.
"Scotty." You dug your fingers into his arm and he looked back at you, recognizing the look of desperation, "where's Scotty?"
He looked at you with sympathy, "We'll find him, Y/N. I promise."
And then he was gone, into the chaos, and you were left frozen in the middle of it, feeling more alone, more helpless, than you had ever felt before.
When you realized you were more in the way than anything in the medbay, you retreated back to the engineering room, pulling the letter out of your pocket and reading it over and over, your trembling fingers nearly tearing the worn paper. You fought an internal battle with yourself, forcing yourself not to cry because if you did, you were going to turn into a sniveling mess, no use to anyone, and you were supposed to be in charge.
But worry made ice flow through your veins and you couldn't focus on anything, even when Keenser came by and tugged on your sleeve.
When your com beeped, you swear you took a breath for the first time in 20 minutes.
"Y/N here." You trembled.
"We found him." It was Jim's voice, and though you should be elated at his words, his somber tone made fresh tears prick at your eyes.
"I'll be right there."
Snapping the com shut, you forced your stiff limbs to move from their perched position on the stool and you made your way to the medbay for the second time that day.
"What happened?" You squeaked when you were met with an impenetrable wall of Jim Kirk on your way into the medbay.
"We don't know 100%. He lost a lot of blood. Bones is working on him now." Jim explained.
"Is he going to be okay?" You stammered, a tear sneaking its way down your cheek and you wiped it away quickly.
Jim met your gaze firmly, his hand squeezing your forearm once, "They don't know yet." His voice was quiet, and you knew he was worried as well.
"He has to be okay, Jim." You whispered, pleading with the somber captain.
And then a change in Jim's expression, barely noticable, a raise in an eyebrow, his mouth falling open a millimeter more, and it was like he knew. The expression was a mirror and made you realize you cared for Scotty much more than you'd like to admit. More than you even realized.
Jim gave you a knowing nod and placed his hand on your shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before he disappeared out the medbay doors.
And once again you were alone. And once again you didn't know if your heart was going to be ripped out of your chest.
Eventually they let you in to see him, after Dr. McCoy had deemed him stable enough.
It was nearly a week after the accident, and you had been forced back to the engineering room, trying to keep the ship afloat while you felt like you were drowning. You didn't know if you'd ever felt so worried in your entire life, to the point where you were questioning if you should even be worried, as you had only known Scotty for a few weeks before the accident.
But it was like a disease, like he had become implanted into your brain, and you heard him and saw him wherever you went. If you were fixing something, you knew exactly how he would tell you you were doing it wrong. If you were lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling in an feeble attempt to sleep, you heard his laugh or the lilt of his accent, shooting back a sarcastic comment at something you said.
Dr. McCoy threatened to keep you in the medbay as a patient, commenting on how often you were in there, checking up on Scotty, but you knew he noticed your dark rimmed eyes and the few pounds you'd shed at the lack of appetite.
Then, one day, he agreed it was time you could go in. Your breath instantly caught in your chest and you nearly cried at the relief of being able to see Scotty after a week of torture.
He looked awful.
He was tucked into the biobed, the white sheets accentuating just how grey his skin looked, how dark the circles were under his eyes. There was a bandage over a cut on his forehead, and a splint on his left wrist, a machine hovering over it that you recognized as a bone regenerator. Another, similar machine was working on his right leg, which was wrapped in a thick white bandage. He had many wires and tubes coming out of him that were connected to several machines, including one that was down his throat, which you recognized as a ventilator.
"He's getting better, despite what he looks like." Dr. McCoy's gentle voice sounded from behind you, and he stepped into the room.
"He looks like crap." You let out a watery laugh, finally letting the tears that you had held in for so long find their way down your cheeks.
"Yeah well, he's a fighter." A strong hand came down on your shoulder, making you release a little sob, "He's going to be fine, Y/N." Dr. McCoy's thumb stroked lines into your shoulder.
"Yeah, kid, you worry too much." A new voice sounded and a flash of command gold came into view. Jim.
When he saw your tear-stained face he offered a weak smile before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you, Dr. McCoy's hand falling away as you nearly fell into Jim's embrace, finally letting yourself feel all the emotions you kept at bay the entire week.
Jim held you for what felt like hours, stroking your back and whispering soft encouragements into your ear.
"That stupid idiot, coming into my engineering room, turning everything upside down, and then going and nearly getting himself killed." You griped, taking shaky breaths from your spot against Jim's chest.
"I don't think the engineering room is the only thing he's turned upside down." Jim noted as he pushed you away, tucking a few locks of hair behind your ear before tapping your chin with his finger.
Looking up at Jim, he gave you a soft mischievous smile, and it made you blush, "Shut up." You sniffed and pushed him away playfully, making him laugh softly.
Then you turned to Scotty, approaching him achingly, but you didn't cry anymore, he was alive.
You reached out and grabbed Scotty's hand, stroking your thumb over the warm skin, watching the way his chest rose and fell in even breaths thanks to the ventilator.
Dr. McCoy said he was getting better, it would just take some time. And you realized, for Montgomery Scott, you had all the time in the world.
-Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!-
I don’t know why I keep writing Scotty writing love letters to people, but I just feel like he wouldn’t be able to vocalize his feelings well (or just spit them out all at once) so he would want to write them down.
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