Title: Proof of Existence Epilogue
Disclaimer: Standard... don't own 'em, never will.
Authors note: And finally the end of the story... Thanks for sticking with me, guys, it's been fun.
Again thanks to all who have taken the time to review, and thanks to Paper Parcel and to my husband for reading.
In the dark, smoky recesses of the White Hart pub, Captain Ash carefully put the two pints that he was carrying down on the small table, and lowered himself into a seat opposite Sergeant James. It was unusual to see an officer and a non-com drinking together, but not completely unheard of, especially when they were known to have served together for a long time, and to have had a close call, as Ash and James had that day.
"You didn't have to do that, sir" James said, indicating the mug Ash had set before him. He already had a pint, though it was almost empty now.
"My pleasure, Sergeant. After all, you bought for me down at my Aunt's."
The sergeant nodded, remembering his trip during Ash's convalescence. "How did things go with Major Rogers?" he asked, concern in his voice.
"Oh fine." Ash dragged deeply on his cigarette. "He was properly sarcastic, reminded me we were supposed to defuse the bomb without exploding it. Then he waxed eloquent in his pleasure that we were both still alive." He was a little bitter, Ivor was a good friend and Ash didn't like deceiving him. Still, it was certainly out of the question to tell him the truth. "Since you have competently backed me up that the fuse was a 50 and that proper procedure was followed through, and no one has contradicted us, it's all been put down to an old bomb just not acting the way it was supposed to. As long as Mully never says anything about that fuse..."
"He'll not. He's a canny lad, he knows that something was amiss, but he'll not say anything to give us away, not even to Norma, not about something like this."
Ash nodded in agreement. "That's what I thought. Well, it's over, then. For us at least. I only wish I knew how things worked out for..." He glanced up.
The sergeant smiled. "Well now, as to that, sir." He reached in his uniform pocket, and pulled something out. His comb, Ash saw. "I realized after the bomb went up that I'd left this behind up there. It was out where we could both use it, not with the rest of my kit, so I must have missed packing it up, like. But when I got back to my quarters, it was on my bunk." He laid the comb on the table, and pulled out a slip of paper. "This was with it."
Ash looked at the paper. In a firm masculine hand was written "Situation resolved satisfactorily." It was signed "J. Kirk."
Ash exhaled a long sigh, releasing tension he hadn't even known he'd been holding. "I'm glad of that. And I'm glad they managed to let us know. If we hadn't heard, I'd have always been looking over my shoulder to see if that lunatic was going to show up again some day."
"Aye. I know what you mean."
"Well that really does mean it's over, then. Nothing left for us to do but keep history straight and have children."
The sergeant chuckled wryly. "That's easy for you to say, sir. Having the lady all picked out and all. But for me..." He shrugged.
Ash looked at him sideways. "What about your supply sergeant, then, that you've been walking out with?"
The sergeant stared at him in frank amazement, and Ash felt a moment of triumph at shaking the normally unflappable NCO. "Fancy you knowing about that, sir!"
"It's not just sergeants who have their ways of knowing things, you know." Ash said, grinning.
James pursed his lips. "Mully, I suppose. Though I'd not have thought he'd say anything to you."
"Oh, not to me. But Norma tells her mother every bit of interesting gossip."
"And Mrs. Baker tells the world. Aye."
The two men laughed quietly together, drinking their beer.
"So what's her name, then?" Ash pressed.
"Sergeant Gilroy." James said. Then his voice softened. "Rosy. I didn't think I'd really have enough to offer her to make it anything serious, but..." He trailed off.
"Do I get to meet her? It only seems fair."
"We're supposed to be going to the pictures Saturday. I'll bring her round here first."
Ash finished his pint, put the mug down, and stubbed out the remains of his cigarette. "I'll be looking forward to it." He slowly stood up, picking up his cane. "I'd best be getting back to the Baker's. I'm supposed to call Susie. She wants to talk about arrangements for the wedding."
James drained the last of the pint Ash had bought him. "I should be going, too." They made their way to the door, the sergeant, as always, slightly behind and to the side, slowing his pace to Ash's.
Outside they paused to look up at the sky.
"Odd to think of being remembered by people out there and 300 years from now." Ash murmured.
"Aye. It is that."
Then they took their separate ways.
Mr. Scott looked around the rec. room. Most of the off-duty crew were finding some way to celebrate their survival against all odds, but he didn't feel like joining in the general revelry.
It was odd. He had found a new member of his family, known him for so short a time, and now he was gone. As if he were dead. No, scratch that. He was dead. Three hundred years dead, too, but yesterday he had been alive. And now he was gone. Scott wished they'd had more time to get to know one another.
He thought Mr. Kyle might understand his sense of loss, but he'd seen Kyle and Janice Rand together earlier, and they had looked very much as if they wanted to be left alone. Well, that was good. Scott had seen those two coming together for some time now, and he approved. But it left him without anyone to commiserate with. No one to hold a wake with.
And, he realized, that's what he wanted to do. When someone in your family died, you held a wake, to celebrate their life and mourn their death. Scott wanted to hold a wake.
For awhile he sat and thought, staring at the glass of scotch in his hands. Then, reaching a decision, he finished it in a gulp and made his way to the door.
He reached his own cabin, but paused only long enough to gather up two bottles and two glasses, then headed out again.
For the second night in a row, Mr. Spock found himself hearing the unexpected sound of his door chime. Last night it had been his equally unexpected human great-something grandfather. Tonight, of course, that wasn't possible. Tonight Ash was 300 years gone.
"Come." He called, and the door opened. Once again, if he had permitted himself the emotion, he would have been startled to see who his visitor was.
"Mr. Scott. This is unexpected." An unconscious echo of his words to Ash the previous night.
Mr. Scott carefully put two bottles down on Spock's table.
"We've each lost a family member today." Scott said. "I thought you might like to join me in having a wake. Vulcans put a great deal of stock in family, they say."
"But not in mourning the dead." Spock felt compelled to point out.
"Aye. I know that. That'd be for the human half."
Mr. Spock made a small, amused noise that in a human would have been equivalent to a deep laugh. He tended to forget, or overlook, that Mr. Scott had known him as long as Kirk had, and almost as well.
"Very well, Mr. Scott." He sat down at the table and motioned the engineer into the other chair. "What did you bring?"
Mr. Scott grinned and held up the first bottle. "Well for a good Scot's wake, there's nothing more proper than whiskey. I shared my best with Sergeant James the other night, and I don't regret it, so this'll have to do." Then he indicated the other bottle. "But I know that ethanol doesn't sit well with Vulcan stomachs, so I brought something that might do you better." He held it out to Spock. "Romulan ale."
For a moment Spock hesitated, then shook his head. "I am only half Vulcan, Mr. Scott. My metabolism can handle the whiskey, and it seems more appropriate." Tomorrow he would be reconsider the logic of that decision, but tonight he would honor the other half of his ancestry.