A/N: Sgian-dubh is pronounced 'skayn-doo'. And I found Freddey's pretty green cocktail dress on Unique Vintage.

The crew of the Enterprise was celebrating the first New Year's since their five-year mission began. Those who celebrated Christmas and other popular winter solstice-related holidays had done so the previous week with a big party, complete with the exchange of presents. Scotty had received several lovely gifts from his friends and crew, but his favorite had come from Freddey. She was not at the party, having been called away suddenly much to Scotty's dismay, but she came to his quarters the next day, bearing a small box bound with red ribbon.

"Merry Christmas, Scotty!" she chirped, "May I come in?"

"I, uh, yes, of course, lass…"

He scrambled to let her in, then realized his room was a mess. He muttered about the clutter and rubbish, but Freddey just smiled, saying, "Oh, don't worry about it. You oughta see my room. Looks like a hurricane blew through it. Anyway, I wanted to make sure you got your present from me."

She held out the small box, continuing, "Sorry it isn't wrapped up real pretty. I couldn't find any paper, and I didn't think you'd mind much."

"Oh, ye didnae have to get me anythin', lass, I-"

"Nonsense. Open it."

Scotty carefully took the box from her and pulled off the ribbon. She chewed her lip and bounced on the balls of her feet. He wondered what it could be. He popped the lid off the box and gave a small gasp.

"Do you like it, Scotty?" she asked anxiously.

Nestled in the box was a small knife known to the Scots as a sgian-dubh. When wearing a kilt and all its sundry, a man would keep this type of small knife tucked into his stocking. They were once real weapons, kept as a sort of backup, but they had become nothing more than ceremonial in recent times.

This sgian-dubh was lovely. The blade was finely crafted Damascus steel, clearly sharpened and ready for service. The hilt was carved from stag antler, a prized material, and the pommel set with a smoky, grey-brown stone colloquially called cairngorm. It was a wonderful blade with a handsome leather scabbard. It nearly brought tears to his eyes.

"Oh my-, Freddey, I love it, I really do," he said quietly, "but I can't accept this. It's too much."

"Shut up. You deserve it. I had a friend working in Scotland who owed me a favor. She made everything there. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Well, it makes my gift for you look awful cheap," he joked weakly.

Her eyes went wide.

"Oh no, you didn't have to get me anythi-"

"No, ye don't. Ye don't get to come down here with such a fine gift for me and not expect one in return. Mind, it's nowhere near as good as this, but I do hope you'll like it."

He retrieved the poorly wrapped package he'd carried around the party the night before and presented it to her. Lord, he was like an awkward teenager giving his first crush a present. He forgot sometimes that Freddey was his first crush. He nervously watched her unwrap it, hoping she would like it and wouldn't think he was awful or stupid for it. When she got the paper off, her eyes lit up, and she let out a noise that sounded like a gasp mixed with a squeak.

"Is this-? Is this what I think it is?" she squealed.

"It's your Ancient Latin and Ancient Aramaic translation of the Kir'Shara, the complete teachings of Surak. I stumbled into it in the database one day and thought maybe you might like a bound copy of it. I know how much you like books, I mean…"

He shuffled his feet, looking at the carpet. Freddey said, "Oh, Scotty… Scotty, this is probably the most awesome and wonderful gift anyone's ever gotten me. I just… thank you, Scotty. Thank you very much."

Scotty could listen to Freddey say his name all day. He cast his eyes up to her face. She was gazing reverently upon the cover of the book, her fingers tracing the gilded letters of the title, a smile of pure joy on her face. I wish she would look at me like that…

"Merry Christmas, Freddey," he spoke up softly.

She looked up at him and smiled, replying, "Merry Christmas, Scotty."

She tucked the book under her arm and stepped close to him, wrapping her free arm around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. Scotty prayed she couldn't hear his pulse pounding. He put his arms around her, resting his cheek on the top of her head. He breathed in deeply, taking in the scents he always associated with her: her fruity shampoo, earthy soap, sweet perfume. He desperately wished he could do this all the time, just hold her close and breathe her in, wished he could hold her forever… but a call came over his comm, asking him to come to the main Engineering deck for some kind of test. Scotty and Freddey parted awkwardly, avoiding each other's eyes and not really speaking.

"Erm… well, I, uh… I better get goin' now… see what they want me for," he stammered.

"Yeah… yeah, of course. It's probably, you know… probably pretty important," she replied haltingly.

She turned to leave, and he watched her go, feeling a small swell of pride in his chest. He did not expect to see her that night.

"Scotty, I am a bit offended," she remarked with a smirk.

"Wha'-? Why? Wha' did I do?"

"You see, you gave me a book for Christmas, yet when I opened it, I found there was no inscription. Not one. Not on any page."

Scotty blinked at her for a moment.

"What?"

"Mister Scott," she told him cheerfully, "it is book-giving etiquette. If you give a book as a gift, then you must provide the recipient an inscription to remember you by. I insist on having one from you."

"But… but it's your book. Why d'you want me tae sign it?"

"So whenever I look at it, even when I'm old and grey, I'll always know who gave it to me. So if I ever show it off to anyone, they'll see it and know how wonderful you are."

Scotty felt heat rising up in his face. She wanted to keep it forever? And show it to other people and tell them he gave it to her? That was daunting. What should he write? What could he write? He must have looked troubled because Freddey came over closer and told him, "Oh, don't worry yourself over it. It doesn't have to be anything really deep or fancy. Even a simple 'To Freddey, From Scotty,' would do. Tell ya what. I'll leave it with you for a bit… maybe 'til New Year's?"

"Aye… aye, Freddey, I think that'll do. I'll do my best tae leave you a fine message," he said.

"I know it will be."

She winked and left, leaving Scotty with the book and several questions on what the hell he should put in his inscription. He couldn't outright say he loved her, that was much too straightforward… but he couldn't just scrawl out a lazy to-and-from. No, he had to come up with something clever. She would like clever.

In the meantime, he puzzled over himself. Every day in Engineering, especially leading up to the big party, he heard his crewmates talking about their 'personal' habits, and every single one seemed to use some sort of fantasy to ease along their, well, habits. They would tell each other about the people they'd seen in their dreams and fantasies, their favorite faces and scenes to masturbate to, about waking up feeling a bit damp. Scotty just didn't get it. He saw Freddey in his dreams all the time, but never once had those images elicited that sort of response nor had he ever used them for that purpose.

When he'd queried Dr. McCoy about what it felt like to be in love, McCoy had said that certain reactions may occur without his wishing them to, and when Scotty pushed him to be more specific, the doctor told him that such feelings usually manifest themselves in sexual fantasies and urges. Scotty began to wonder if something was wrong with him, why even though he thought about Freddey nearly the whole day he'd never felt this apparently common stirring in his groin. He found it strange when his crewmates said things like, "Damn, she was fine. Didja see that ass? Got a hard on just thinkin' about her," or, "Holy shit, you see him? Ooh, if he comes back, I'm gonna climb him like a tree… or maybe just ride him like a horse!" He just could not understand it.

The night before the big party, he shook all those thoughts out of his head and looked over to the book. He ran his fingers over the black leather cover with gold embossed letters that read, "Kir'Shara, or the Complete Teachings of Surak, translated into the Ancient Latin and Ancient Aramaic (Terra), by Winifred A. Mulcahy, Cadet Fourth Class, Starfleet Academy." He pondered what to write to her for a few more minutes before it struck him, but he was taking a big gamble.

The New Year's Eve party on the Enterprise was the biggest shindig since they'd set out just over six months ago. It lasted all day so everyone could attend, even those who didn't officially celebrate the New Year on that day. (It just so happened that the traditional Western New Year of December 31 sat smack in the middle of several other celebrations, making it the common date of the Federation calendar.) On the Enterprise, there was music and dancing and a good deal of drinking and merriment. Most of the crew spent the day before chatting about whom they wanted to spend the night with. Scotty listened but did not participate. He had Freddey's clumsily wrapped gift ready, his inscription inked into the front of the book. If it were not for that, he doubted he would even attend the party. He would have much preferred a quiet drink in the company of his engines and then a few more in the privacy of his quarters.

Everyone was invited to wear their civvies for the party, so Scotty played along, arriving in a black jacket, shirt, and tie and his kilt in the family tartan of black and white plaid, along with a simple black sporran. The sgian-dubh Freddey gave him was tucked into his stocking. Several people stopped him to offer compliments, but none were Freddey. Sulu, Chekov, Kirk, and McCoy had all donned smart black suits with ties of varying colors. Spock had chosen all black, though not a traditional suit and jacket. Uhura was showing off her legs in a short silver dress with long sleeves, while Carol Marcus sported a strapless, floor-length gown of pale pink chiffon; they both looked lovely.

Scotty sat back with a drink and watched his friends. Chekov was fussing over Sulu's tie, who would then aggravate him by tweaking the former's tie with a smirk. McCoy was telling Carol and Uhura what was surely a whale of a tale, waving his arms and gesticulating wildly, much to the ladies' delight. They were laughing with him over what was probably a story about Kirk. Said captain, meanwhile, was busy trying to make Spock dance with him. Spock seemed to be having none of it, though he did look somewhat amused. Still, even after an hour, there was no sign of Freddey. She probably wouldn't come. Scotty hung his head, nursing his drink and trying to hide the color in his cheeks.

"Scotty! There you are! I'm sorry I'm so late. I had a last minute confession that I had to take care of before I came. Have you been enjoying the party?"

Freddey looked gorgeous, resplendent in a cocktail dress with a full skirt and three-quarter sleeves, her long dark hair in elegant waves. The dress was a deep emerald green with a black crinoline slip, and her lips were painted a rich red. She was too beautiful for words. Scotty felt his heartbeat quicken in his chest, felt his pulse rise. The mates in Engineering would take the piss now if they knew about this. I gaze upon the loveliest creature in the universe and not a thing stirring. What would they think?

The thought fled as quickly as it had come. He found he didn't care a whit what anyone else would think of him because no one else had Freddey smiling at them like that. He rose from his chair to greet her properly, taking her dainty hand and offering her bow. His mother had taught him to be gentleman, after all. He never saw Kirk smiling and nudging McCoy, discreetly pointing at them. Midnight was in fifteen minutes.

"Here," he said softly, presenting the clumsily rewrapped gift, "I… uh, I hope you like it… again."

Freddey smiled at him brightly and took the package. They sat next to each other, Scotty's leg jiggling nervously. Well-manicured fingers plucked off the twine and hastily taped brown paper. She grinned at the cover again, running her fingers over the letters once more, and cracked the book open to the front insert. There, inked into the bottom of the page, were Scotty's words.

"What does it say, Scotty?" she asked, "I'm afraid I can't read it."

"It's Gaelic, lass," he told her, "Scot-Gaelic, as a matter o' fact. It was the only class outside o' any maths or science that I was any good at. You'd like it, I think, for it's an old language. Very old. Ancient, in fact. You could likely learn it in the blink of an eye."

"Well, what does it say?"

"Its says: Is tú gaol mo chridhe, mo spiorad cairdeach. Guma math a theid leibh, mo suilean geala. Montgomery C. J. Scott," he reads.

"But what does it mean?"

"I shan't tell you," he replied playfully, "You told me to put an inscription. You didn't say it had to be in Standard or that you had to understand it."

"Oh, Scotty, that isn't fair," she pouted, "Please, tell me what it means."

"No, you won't be able to sway me. I shan't tell you."

"Then I'll look it up."

"No you won't. You want me to tell you."

She pouted a bit more, saying, "But I am very curious."

"Indeed you are, but I don't think you'll look for it before I tell you."

Freddey opened her mouth to reply, but McCoy hurried over with Kirk, both grinning and saying, "Come on! It's nearly one minute to midnight! Almost the New Year!"

They took Freddey by the arm, and she reached out and grabbed Scotty's hand to drag him with her. Warmth spread from his fingers through his body. At twenty seconds to midnight, the countdown began. Freddey's face was flushed with excitement and cheer.

"Five!... Four!... Three!... Two!... One!... Happy New Year!"

The crew cheered loudly, everyone chanting and kissing each other. Kirk and McCoy both swept down to kiss Freddey on either cheek, and Uhura and Carol did the same to Scotty.

"Scotty, you've gotta lead us in Auld Lang Syne," Uhura told him, smiling.

"Wha'? Me? No no no," he protested, "Ye don' want me leading any songs."

"Please, Scotty," Freddey asked of him, "lead the song. I'll sing with you if you do. Oh, please."

He looked at some of the crew's expectant faces.

"Och, fine," he finally agreed to a cheer, "but don' make fun! I warned ye I'm no' a good singer."

Kirk cheerfully ushered him and Freddey to a table near a piano, and Scotty began the song in a wavering brogue, "Should auld acquaintance be forgot/ and never brought to mind?/ Should auld acquaintance be forgot/ and auld lang syne…"

The party joined in for the chorus, "For auld lang syne, my dear/ for auld lang syne/ we'll take a cup o' kindness yet/ for auld lang syne…" and it was just the chorus they sang. Freddey was the only one who joined him for the other verses.

"And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp/ and surely I'll be mine/ and we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet/ for auld lang syne…"

There went the chorus. He looked over to Freddey, and he felt emboldened.

"We twa hae run about the braes/ and pou'd the gowans fine/ but we've wander'd monie a weary fit/ sin' auld lang syne…"

The group carried the chorus for them again, and oh, Scotty yearned to reach out and take Freddey's hand.

"We twa hae paidl'd in the burn/ frae morning sun til dine/ but seas between us braid hae roar'd/ sin' auld lang syne…"

Kirk appeared, bearing a glass of champagne for each of them before their next chorus. Freddey grinned at Scotty for the next verse.

"And there's a hand, my trusty fiere/ and gie's a hand o' thine/ and we'll tak a right gude willie waught/ for auld lang syne…"

"For auld lang syne, my dear/ for auld lang syne/ we'll take a cup o' kindness yet/ for auld lang syne!"

Scotty lifted his glass high, called out, "Slainte!" and drained his glass. Freddey followed suit with the same cheer, also draining her champagne glass. The party cheered. Kirk helped Freddey off the table, and the crowd pushed their way over to clap Scotty on the shoulder and congratulate them on their performance. Someone struck up music once more, and the crowd paired off and filtered onto the dance floor. Feeling brave at last, Scotty turned to Freddey, held out his hand, and asked, "Miss Mulcahy, a bhuil thu 'g irraidh a dhanns? Will you dance with me?"

"How do I say 'Yes, thank you'?"

"It's 'Tha, tapadh leat'."

"Tha, tapadh leat, Scotty."

She took his proffered hand, and he led her out to the dance floor, still confident. He held her hand in his and settled his other hand at the small of her back. Hers rested on his shoulder. They moved in a lazy spin.

"I don't know why you were so shy just now, Scotty," she told him, "You have a good voice."

"No, I don't," he countered, avoiding her eyes, "You're just sayin' that."

"No, I'm not. It was wonderful. Believe me, if you were bad, I'd tell you."

A chuckle bubbled up out of the Scot, bringing a brief sense of relief, though he still watched his shoes, the confidence ebbing away.

"Thank you again for my Christmas present," she told him softly after a moment, "I can't imagine how must it cost or the trouble you went through to have it bound. I really do appreciate it… very much so."

"And you are very welcome, Freddey," he replied, his voice just as low, "It was no trouble at all once I had the text. I'm no' a bit surprised you're fluent in dead languages. Ye would be… and only you would think to translate an ancient Vulcan text into those dead languages."

"Well, I'll just have try and be less predictable."

"I'm sure ye will, lass."

A moment of silence passed comfortably between them, and Scotty was still afraid to look into her eyes. He just wanted to keep feeling her hand in his and on his shoulder, wanted to keep smelling her soap and shampoo and perfume. He loved her as he had never loved another living being. She had comforted him even when she was upset herself when Kirk had died, had sought comfort from him, had shared her joy with him when Kirk was resurrected. She brought him peace when he felt worthless.

Ah, yes, said a small voice in his head, but she does that for everyone. It's her job, after all. You're not special, Monty, not special at all.

He tried to shut the voice down, to ignore it.

No, Monty, it's not that easy to get rid of me. You know I'm right.

You're wrong, he told the voice, she cares about me, and it's not like the others.

The voice just laughed derisively, and Scotty felt very low after that. Damn his insecurities and damn their poor timing! Why couldn't they let him dance with his bonnie lass in peace? Scotty's face grew hot, and he felt very embarrassed and exposed, like everyone was watching and judging him. The end of the song saved him. He stammered out an excuse about needing to wake up early and being tired from working that morning and that he really ought to leave and get some rest. He must have imagined the disappointed look on Freddey's face as he left and tried to ignore the rude voice in his head. He didn't know she left not too long after he did.

I'm staying tight lipped on what that Gaelic is, too. If you do read and understand it, please don't spoil it for anyone! I promise that all will be revealed by the end of the story :)