"Din Lugh"

A Star Trek TOS fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design, primarily in the movies II-V. I started writing this story more than 30 years ago and decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T

Pairing: MS/NU

Chapter 4/?

… but now am found

Jim Kirk had been moved from the Intensive Care Unit shortly after an EEG scan had been completed earlier that day; fortunately, no residual damage was detected. The Captain's ribs and sprained (luckily, not broken) ankle were not serious injuries, only painful as they limited his mobility. Connor Scott, however, remained unconscious in a monitored ICU bed.

"Captain?" Spock said quietly, careful not to startle him awake as he placed a warm hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Jim." He considered a Vulcan mind-meld if necessary.

It wasn't. The Captain stirred and opened his eyes slowly, raising one forearm to shield against the brightness of the overhead lights. He smiled sheepishly when he saw Spock and McCoy hovering over him. "Morning, Bones. Spock." He coughed at the dryness in his throat.

Always literal-minded, Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "Good afternoon, Captain." The First Officer stepped back a pace and stood rigidly, not allowing the immense relief he felt to show.

"That was some donnybrook, Jim. Shame on you for picking on a sick little boy by the way," McCoy scolded in a growl that was laced with equal parts concern and exasperation. "Easy there. Don't sit up too fast, you have a nice concussion to get over."

Sick little boy, my ass, he thought but did not voice aloud. "Ouch, what else happened?" Kirk nodded his thanks as he accepted a small cup of water from the doctor.

Spock glanced over at McCoy before he answered. "Apparently Mr. Connor Scott and his colleagues were defending their home, sir." The First Officer had seen the illogical damage that Connor and Jim had done to each other in such a short time, and found it barbaric, even by human standards.

"As sick as he probably was, the boy is tough," said Jim ruefully. He was even a little embarrassed about the thrashing he had taken. "I bet it's from growing up in the enhanced gravity on RL-995, right?" It could happen.

McCoy harrumphed at him. "That's what you say, Jim. Forget diplomatic corps. You're fit for duty, in case you were wondering. But go easy if you can for a few days, hm? You are still mending in my opinion."

Jim swung his legs gingerly around and reached for the clean uniform tunic that a nurse had provided for him; Bones moved his boots to where he could slip into them from the medibed. He winced at the pain in his head, and remembered vividly where it had come from. "How is he doing, the boy I mean?"

"Weak as a day-old kitten. We'll be putting him in regeneration therapy this afternoon," answered the doctor, glancing at the portable scanner over Jim's head and nodding in satisfaction.

Kirk shuddered at the memory of his own experience in a tank of regen gel, years before the infamous "Five Year Mission". The slimy green bath, kept at just below body temperature, was not something that he would wish on his worst enemy, not even a Klingon. Well, maybe one or two in particular…

"How long will that be for the lad, doctor?" asked Scotty, striding purposefully out of the adjacent ICU ward. He had spent the night in Sickbay and had just returned from his quarters after a quick shower, shave and fresh uniform.

"'Bout a month, maybe a little bit more. It'll be rocky at first but I prefer to take it slow; so far, we're lucky to not have to deal with infection."

The Captain shrugged into the uniform shirt and adjusted it carefully over the rib support brace he wore. "What about the planet?"

"Uh, you'll probably want something to eat first. This is gonna be a long briefing, Jim," McCoy said, sounding grim. Scotty looked furious, and Jim later found out the reasons.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"No kidding, gentlemen. This violates nearly every treaty that has ever been written," Jim stated later that afternoon as he and his officers sat in the Main Briefing Room. "Are we sure it was the Klingons? No one had heard from RL-995 for nearly two years."

"Positive, Captain. It was they," replied Colin Matlock. "We found one disruptor phaser and an insignia patch in the main recovery room. Most of the personal effects have been delivered to Mr. Scott's custody: journals, books, and so on. The rest was scavenged machinery. Cargo bay two is being used for storage and I have a team cataloging everything for evidence. We also have recordings of the colony's... um, condition, sir."

Kirk nodded, satisfied at least with that aspect of the situation. "Were there any other survivors?" One could hope.

Spock shook his head ever so slightly, his lips drawn into a thin line; an expression of anger and disappointment for the First Officer. "Negative, sir. The two Border collies were delivered to Dr. Rigel's care in the Xenozoology department. There were no other human survivors."

Border collies? So that's what those monsters were. We have those on Earth? "How about young Connor? Have you talked to him yet?" asked the Captain. Scotty frowned, shaking his head, and it was McCoy who answered.

"No chance. Christine got him into the tank a little while ago, but that's her field, not mine. He was kept under heavy sedation after surgery and that'll continue for the next four or five weeks while he's in the drink. I don't wanna mess up my handiwork on that prosthetic," he said. "We're pretty far from any Starbases out here. He wouldn't be ready to testify until he's off the meds."

Kirk sighed. "Not a whole lot to go on, is it? Scotty, you let Stan Blocker run things down in engineering for the time being. You'll be busy with a crash course in regen medicine. Do they still recommend company for patients in the tanks, Bones?"

"Absolutely, Jim."

"Thank you, sir," added Scott. Jim Kirk remembered the long vigils he had kept while his friend Gary Mitchell had been in regeneration for severe burns and other sustained injuries, so many years ago. The communications panel beeped and Uhura's face filled the small view screens around the table.

"Captain, you'll want to see this," she said and the image flickered to a space picture. Exploding into light and matter, RL-99 had reached the end of its lifetime. It was ironic that a star's most prominent event came when it finally died. Even filtered, the picture was painfully bright, fading slowly to black. All around the conference table were silent. There was nothing you could say to eulogize an entire star system.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Weeks later, the nova of RL-99 was long since forgotten by Chief Engineer Scott as he sat in the ICU ward of Enterprise's sickbay, waiting, watching and hoping for the best. A storage carton was open on the padded bench beside him and it contained photo cubes of the family he barely knew, as well as some books collected by Amanda Scott and the journals of Dr. Robert Scott. All that was left of Din Lugh was in a few measly storage cartons, and in the frail figure that floated in the regeneration tank. He clicked off the mic and rested his forehead on it for several long heartbeats. His eyes closed as he allowed himself time to be completely still, though his thoughts were in slow turmoil.

Scotty sighed, deep-seated fatigue gripping his bones, as he watched over the scantily clad form of his young cousin floating there in the green bath, his body wholly supported by a webbed harness and other medical tubes and wires. A respirator mask kept the boy from drowning, but Scott was sure that he would never be able to shake the unease he felt around the slimy ooze in the thick polymeric tank. It did little to comfort him that Connor slumbered in a drugged, unnatural state while his skin and internal injuries healed. Even the boy's hair had grown back in, the thick red locks floating freely made a sharp contrast to the green gel.

At Dr. Chapel's suggestion, he often read aloud, or simply talked to Connor over the two-way microphone. He will hear your voice, and it always seems to help for a quicker recovery, she had promised. Communications Officer Uhura had come by several hundreds of times to talk to or sing for the boy while Scotty took infrequent rests; it pained her to see her partner in such distress. The engineer had not slept well since the beginning of Connor's treatment, so he usually wandered around in the coolant piping or warp core sections, taking comfort in the familiar surroundings and familiar sounds. He rarely planned these visits; his feet just subconsciously brought him there.

McCoy stepped into the darkened room, carrying two cups of coffee and they both saw Connor's legs thrash slightly in the warm, green muck. Scotty thought he could hear him mumbling something into the respirator mask but it was too fleeting to make anything out. That had to be a good sign though, he was certain.

"He's almost ready to get the hell out of there," said Bones in a soft voice. "Some part of the brain always knows when the body is healed enough, and raring to get out of that damn goo."

"Aye, that is good news," Scott agreed wearily, but he looked greatly relieved.

McCoy's clinical eye turned its attention to the burly Chief engineer. "Scotty, you look wrung out. Why don't you skip the coffee for now and go take a nap? You can either go to your quarters or use my office. I'll read to him for a little while to spell you." Scotty agreed, and handed over the book with a sly, tired smile. Bones cleared his throat and scanned a few of the sentences and found that the book of poems was written entirely in Gaelic.

"Oh, come on man, haven't you got anything in proper English? Latin was the only ancient language I ever learned, and that was under extreme duress for medical school," he snorted, reaching for another volume as his bright blue eyes twinkled with humor. McCoy teased his friend, but deep down, he was more than a little surprised to learn how fluent the engineer was. Even Uhura was surprised and the couple had been together for many years.

"Softie. Leonard, expand thy horizons," replied Scotty with a laugh, slapping the doctor lightly on the arm. He trudged the few short yards to McCoy's office, kicked off his boots, stretched out facedown on the deceptively comfortable couch, and within moments, was sound asleep. His broad shoulders relaxed as he hugged the downy pillow to the side of his face.

Two hours later rested and refreshed, Chief Engineer Scott's mood lightened considerably. He checked briefly with Stan Blocker, temporarily in charge of the engineering division, who assured him that all was well. Scotty was grateful to have such a skilled right-hand man. His mood improved even further when he returned to Sickbay.

"Well Scotty, now what do you think about the little redfish in our bowl?" McCoy demanded, grinning broadly as he jerked his chin over one shoulder. Connor was definitely moving around more in the regen tank, fighting the narcotic pull of the gel. Patients who reached this phase were ready to abandon the tank for dry air.

"That's aye a sight better! When can the lad come out?" Scotty took a sip of decaf coffee, handing over a second cup to Bones who nodded his thanks, clicking a panel on the nearby medical scanner with his thumb.

"We'll have him out, feet dry, first thing in the morning. Christine?"

Dr. Chapel entered, carrying the latest regen patient's file recorder; she read it over and liked what she saw. "Yes, 0600 at the latest. I sure wouldn't want him to wake up and have a panic attack in there," she reported happily.

"Neither would I," Scotty added with an involuntary shudder. "Ever been in one of these contraptions yourself?" he asked, flicking his eyes toward the tank.

She beamed brightly at him. "Not on your life since I am seriously claustrophobic. And I helped invent the darn things."

-/-/-/-/-/-

For the sedated young Scotsman, coming out of the therapy tank was like being reborn. His new layer of skin was wrinkled from the constantly wet environment in the webbed harnesses, but the regeneration was healthy and complete; even his fingernails looked healthier. Skin softer than a baby's behind, McCoy had commented. Connor's hair was luxuriant and brilliant red in color, falling in thick waves well below his shoulders. McCoy had to smile to himself about that. While it had never been quite that long in all of the time he'd known the man, Scotty's hair had been red-brown in his younger days before the salt and pepper flecks had settled in, most visible now in the bristly moustache he wore. Bones chuckled as he recalled several old-Earth expressions about redheads and their tempers. He wondered just how much this youngster would be like his cousin.

Christine Chapel seemed to have read McCoy's mind, because she smiled knowingly. The post-regeneration diagnostic tests had been run (in triplicate) and Connor was bathed and dressed in clean sleepwear before being moved to the regular ward of Sickbay. His right arm was securely bound to his chest with a brace to prevent any damage to the prosthetic shoulder joint. Another padded brace came across his waist to secure him to the medibed.

"Let's start the stokaline and Ringers' supplements again, Chris. He can't weigh more than fifty kilos dripping wet, skinny ol' thing," McCoy suggested as he prepared the hypos.

"Agreed; I upped the protein grams a titch to give him a head start on rebuilding muscle mass. Come in Scotty, and take a look."

The chief engineer had just returned to Sickbay and strode over, grinning broadly. He looked as if a large weight had dropped from around his shoulders; his eyes shone with tears of joy. "Well I'll be... and what do your pretty blinking lights say, doctors?"

Dr. Chapel smiled fondly up at the usually dour Scot. His relief was that transparent. "Connor will wake briefly as he is weaned off of the sedatives, probably sometime this evening. Then, his body will make him sleep more, although this time, more naturally. We've found in the past that many regen patients need to sleep for another twenty-four or thirty-six hours to catch up on REM stages. He's lost about five weeks in real time, so the dreams he has will probably be quite vivid. It's the brain's way of getting it's processing and wiring back on track, so to speak." McCoy had deferred most of the treatment to her expertise. She had been on the original team of doctors that had developed regeneration technology.

"I'm sure that Blocker can handle things for another day or two," said McCoy with a wink. "Seein' how you've been taking all of this family time off lately."

Scotty leaned over and kissed Chapel on the cheek as he grasped her hands. McCoy stepped back in mock protest as Scott turned toward him. "Thank you. I'm grateful, grateful to ye both," he said simply as he hugged the oftentimes surly CMO. The bond between these three old friends understood the deeper, more sensitive meaning. Bones and Chapel knew that family meant more to Scotty than anything, sometimes even more than the Enterprise.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Exactly as Dr. Chapel had predicted, Connor awoke briefly around 1930 hours that same evening. Scotty happened to be standing beside the bed, reading the instrument panel with a now experienced eye and he smiled down as the youngster shifted his legs under the light blanket. Although he could not move from the protective shoulder and arm bindings, Connor sighed and blinked in recognition at the older man. He tried to speak, but could not manage more than a murmur; his eyelids fluttered as he fought in vain to stay awake. Scott laughed lightly, brushing a lock of hair from the boy's forehead, back out of his eyes.

"Shhh, you're safe. You're safe now, lad, I promise," he said in Gaelic, very quietly as he rested a warm hand Connor's head. "Go back to sleep for just a wee while, and don't you worry about a thing. I'll be right here, watching out for you while you rest and get better."

Scotty was sure that the boy had understood, because he nodded once and smiled in faint reply. His eyes slowly closed, as his breathing became deep and regular, the muscles of his face relaxing into a ghost of a smile. The lights in the ward dimmed to the shipboard night cycle just as McCoy came in. He also glanced at the panel above Connor's head and gave a satisfied grunt.

"You do realize, of course," he began in a whisper, considerately averting his eyes for a moment as Scotty quietly blew his nose and wiped tears from his cheek. "That as soon as this kid wakes up he's gonna have about five million questions for you, likely every day if I'm guessing right." Bones teased his friend in a soft drawl, long fingers pressing the diagnostic screens in sequence as he rapidly checked the boy's vital signs and latest blood work; McCoy had always had a knack for distracting his patients while he chatted during their exams. "You feelin' up to it?"

Scotty turned to Bones McCoy with a big grin on his face as he cleared the lump in his throat. "Aye, no trouble, doc. No trouble at all."

TBC