Ok, I got this idea when reading a prompt on the st_xi_kinks list. I know it is not quite what was asked for, since my mind took the prompt, ran away and refused to come back until I agreed to follow its way. So, sorry if I disappointed anyone, especially the original inventor of this idea (I just loved your prompt so much).
The original prompt: Scotty discovers his mirror-self "The Editor" but then soon finds that it actually is his future. An accident is suppose to occur in the future turning him into this cold evil creature and he does everything he can to prevent it but unfortunately it's his fate. Years later the crew stumble upon Scotty as the Editor, luring and killing people. They then take him back to the ship unconscious and McCoy does everything he can to bring Scotty back. Love sparks between the two (I dunno. I think it would be cute in my opinion) and when all seems well for Scotty, he keeps having recurring dreams of the horrible creature he was until finally he develops and split personality and goes from affection with McCoy to down right cruel and abusive.
However, I have sort of changed it so it starts out with the Editor, who can't remember being Scotty, being saved by the Doctor, who figures out who he is. I have also brought forward the romance between McCoy and Scotty to give a reason for the incident which turns Scotty into the Editor. However, the rest o the prompt is the same (hopefully).
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these brilliant ideas. Not even the plot bunny. I just borrowed it for my own amusement.
Warnings: As the prompt suggested, this is Slash. More accurately, Scotty/McCoy. However, there will probably be some hints of Kirk/Spock too. Also, this is currently un-beta'd, so I apologise in advance for any errors.
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In a League of His Own
The Year 200,000
The Editor lay where he had fallen, the fresh burns on his body making it impossible to move from the soaked ground, as the temperature continued to rise, to vent the heat of thousands of people into the room.
'It doesn't matter now' he thought to himself. 'It's not as if Max needs the cool anymore'
Wincing slightly, the Editor glanced up to the ceiling, his unnatural blue eyes scanning the area once occupied by his master.
'The Jagrafess is gone now. All that the order of the Holy Hadrojassic Maxarodenfoe....'
Again, the Editor winced. He had never been good at getting the name right. He gritted his teeth and continued his thought.
'All that the Order had planned, all that it had strived for, all of it, gone.'
Slowly, trying to ignore the fresh waves of pain, the Editor turned his head. She lay, resting next to his injured body. Suki Macrae Cantrell. The spy. She was dead. And soon, he would be too. The Editor felt like laughing.
Directing his gaze back up to the ceiling, the Editor sighed. He didn't mind the dying. Not really. He just wished it wasn't so damned hot!
"You know lad, if you just rerouted the system to vent the air into space, instead of into here, you would make yourself a lot happier."
The Editor blinked, his blue eyes dazed for a moment at the voice, so very close but so far away, and only ever heard in the confinements of his own head. He had always believed in the concept of 'inner voices', the idea that another personality occupied a small part of his brain. He just wished his didn't have to be a mechanics loving Scotsman.
Sighing again, the Editor relaxed as his vision started to fade. His body felt like it was drifting out of his control. Without any signals from his brain, his hand slowly lifted from the floor, sliding into his pocket. Slowly, it withdrew, a small piece of folded paper clenched between the strong fingers.
The paper parted slightly as the mindless fingers pushed against it, before falling away. It was a photo, grey with water damage but still the seven occupants were visible. Resting on top of the photo was a small piece of silver, a badge shaped like an incomplete star, a small swirl cut into the metal.
The fingers reached for the badge, holding it safely in a fist.
The Editor lost consciousness.
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The Doctor didn't know why he had returned to floor 500. Rose had returned with Cathica to find that useless lump Adam. The Doctor had intended to follow her, maybe yelling at Adam for being a stupid ape in the process, but something had stopped him. A feeling.
Being telepathic was not something the Doctor generally thought about. Sure it was a great party trick but it tended to get old fast. However, one of the disadvantages of being telepathic was that he could feel emotions. And floor 500 was full of emotions.
No! The Doctor mentally corrected himself. Not emotions. One emotion. An overwhelming feeling of being trapped.
The Doctor felt cold. As a time traveller, he had always been free to go where he wanted. He could not imagine being held against his will, but someone, somewhere on this floor, was.
Stepping through the growing puddles of water, the Doctor ignored the heat pulsing against his leather jacket as his mind travelled, scanning the rooms. It was depressingly quiet, the Editors victims long since silenced. The Doctor continued his search, his eyes finally landing on a dark lump on the floor. Then, it dawned on him. The Editors victims may have been silenced but the Editor wasn't.
It took all of the Doctors self control not to turn away and leave the man to his fate. Despite his dislike for the man who had played god, the Doctor was curious. Why did the Editor feel so trapped?
Walking over to the figure, the Doctor regarded the man. Unnatural blond hair grew from a thin, sickly looking face, fresh burns contorting the features. Short, shallow breaths the only indication that the man was still alive.
Slowly, the Doctor knelt down to regard the strange being. He blinked, a flash of silver momentarily blinding him. Glancing towards the light, he noticed something clenched in the Editors fist. Reaching over, he gently pulled open the hand. Lying on the Editors palm was a small silver object. The Doctor picked it up, inspecting the object. His eyes widened in shock. Glancing down, he once again regarded the Editor before turning his attention back to the Star Fleet insignia.
"You're a long way from home" he muttered, more to the badge than anything else. He looked down at the Editor again. "How did you come by this?" he asked, almost under his breath.
As if trying to answer, the Editors hand twitched, sending small waves across the growing puddle surrounding the body. Something white moved in the water. The Doctor snatched at it, the sleeves of his leather jacket hitting the water as he scooped up the object.
It was a photo. Six men and one woman, all grinning up at the camera (Well, all except a dark hair man in blue, whose face was expressionless). All of the figures dressed in what the Doctor recognized as early Star Fleet uniform.
The Doctor flicked the photo over, scanning the back. Someone had written across it.
Ensign Chekov's 18th Birthday!
The senior crew of the USS Enterprise NCC 1701.
The Doctor turned back to stare at the photo, scanning the faces. Although he had never met them (It was on his to-do list), he knew about the Enterprise crew. The tall, blue eyed man in yellow had to be the infamous Captain James T Kirk. The expressionless man in blue beside him (Who, on closer inspection, had to be a Vulcan) was Commander Spock.
The Doctor frowned at the photo, naming the people and remembering their faces (It could always come in handy). Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, McCoy. Finally, he was staring at the last member of the group which, if his memory was correct, was Chief Engineer Montgomery 'Scotty' Scott. He glanced down at the Editor. Then he glanced back at the photo. Then, slowly, he lowered the photo to once again stare at the prone man before him.
Slowly, the Doctor smiled.
"Fantastic!"
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It was a nerve shattering process, trying to save the Editor. The first problem was the burns on his body, which were so bad that even small movements could cause lots of damage. The Doctor had tried to move him, but in the end, he had been forced to pull out his sonic screwdriver. Although it didn't have a function to heal injuries, it did have one which could speed up the rate of healing. The Doctor had run it over the Editor a few times before he was convinced that he could move the man without killing him.
The second problem was the TARDIS. Being a part of the Doctor, she was well aware of what this man had done, and she didn't want him on board.
Having summoned the TARDIS to floor 500 (and leaving a message on Roses phone so she would know where he was), the Doctor had been faced with a ship which refused to let him bring the Editor onboard. It had taken all of his negotiation skills, and finally, a promise to fuel up at the next rift he found, before his physic ship had allowed the man to be brought aboard.
The final obstacle was Rose. Although she had said nothing when the Doctor had confronted and finally dumped Adam, her disapproval had been clearly visible. However, as the Doctor had closed the door on Adam's face, her silence disappeared.
"What's he doing here Doctor?" she had asked accusingly, a glare directed at the Editors prone form. "Why are you helping him?"
The Doctor had sighed. He loved Rose, as much as it was possible for him to love a companion, and he could understand that she would feel upset by this turn of events. But to get her to understand his discovery would take time the Editor didn't have.
"Just trust me on this one Rose, he...." The Doctor trailed off, glancing at the injured man. "He's important." Was all he said.
Rose lent against the control panel as the Doctor searched through the TARDISs historical records, searching for the right date.
"So, what? He is important. Why?"
The Doctor glanced at her.
"He just is."
Typing in the correct date and location, the Doctor kick started the TARDIS, sending it into the time stream.
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Just quickly, I haven't watched the ninth Doctor series in AGES! Hence why my Doctor probably doesn't sound quite right. Anyway, the next chapter (or two) will be about the crew of the Enterprise and how Scotty came to be the Editor. (I do have some ideas how that happened, and why.)