Summary: Jim and Scotty talk all things deep and philosophical.
Genre: Humor, slightly crackish.
Rated: K+ for a couple curses.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek (but the plot, whatever sad, limping plot there may be of this story IS MINE! MWAHAHA!)
Pie
The tiny office falls silent as the gravity of Jim's words ring in the air.
Scotty stares at him from his seat in his rolling chair, his feet propped up on his cluttered desk, a shot of scotch held in one hand.
"No," he says, horrorstruck.
Jim nods gravely. "Yes."
"But that's jes'…that's jes' wrong!"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"How could they do that?"
"Somebody up there made a bad, bad decision, is how."
"But we canna let this happen!"
"I know."
"Good Lord…we've gottae do somethin'!"
"I know. That's why I contacted Admiral Pike to file a complaint this morning."
Scotty, who is sitting bolt upright in his chair, breathes a sigh of relief and sinks back down again.
"That's a relief, lad. Pike'll listen tae you," he says.
"I hope so," Jim answers, scrutinizing his own shot of scotch.
"Tryin' tae replace all th' sandwiches with bloody wraps," Scotty mutters darkly, "Insane!" He looks up, holding up his shot glass. "Tae sandwiches!" he declares, "May their existence extend far into the future!"
"Sandwiches," echoes Jim.
The clink glasses and down their shots.
Scotty swallows, replacing his shot glass on the desk and starting to refill it.
"So…" he begins, "…d'ye think there'll be pie in the future, then, Captain?"
Jim puts a hand on Scotty's shoulder, a small smile spreading across his face. "Scotty," he says, "I know there'll be pie in the future.
FIN!