My Star Trek One-Shots

Scotty - Temporal Kickback

The dim buzz of a fluorescent light flickered overhead as Riley Harris snapped a roundhouse kick into the padded post. Her Doc Martens thudded against the bag—less than ideal for training, but she liked the challenge. She wore ripped black jeans and a faded flannel tied around her waist, sweat beading down her brow as her black tank top clung to her lithe, muscled frame.

She was alone—until she wasn't.

Three figures entered quietly through the side door. They didn't look like trouble exactly, but something about them set her senses on edge. They were too clean. Too . . . composed.

The one in the center had movie-star looks and commanding eyes. The tall, lean man beside him was eerily calm, eyes calculating. And the third—slightly younger, scruffier, with messy hair and a Scottish accent as he muttered to himself—looked around as if he'd never seen a punching bag before.

She grabbed a staff from the rack and pointed it at them. "Gym's closed."

The leader held up his hands. "We don't mean any harm. We're . . . displaced travelers. We need shelter, just for the night."

Riley narrowed her eyes. "Displaced, huh? You look like you fell out of a cosplay convention."

The Scottish one cracked a grin. "That's no' far from the truth."

Something about his voice softened her stance. Just a little.

She still watched them with suspicion. "You can crash at my place. But if any of you touch my stuff, you'll be eating soup through a straw."

It was weird, having them in her space. Pike was polite. Spock was unnervingly quiet, reading her books and studying her laptop like it was alien tech. Scotty, though . . . Scotty made her laugh.

She found herself making excuses to talk to him. To listen to him explain mechanical theory with that warm brogue, to watch his eyes light up as he tried to cobble together 23rd-century tech from her toaster. They cooked together once—badly. But he danced with her while they waited for the smoke alarm to stop.

One evening, as they sat on the fire escape sharing a six-pack, she tilted her head. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Scotty blinked. "Depends what you mean by 'here.'"

"You know what I mean."

A pause.

He sighed, glancing inside where Pike and Spock were arguing over a tricorder they'd tried (and failed) to repair with 21st-century wiring.

"We're from the future. We were sent to retrieve something . . . or someone. I'm not supposed to tell you that, but you're smart. You figured it out."

Riley went quiet. Then took a sip of her beer. "Well, that explains a few things. Like how the guy with the eyebrows hasn't blinked in three hours."

After a week of them staying in her apartment, they were getting ready to leave. Riley stood at her door, arms crossed. The gym had felt emptier lately. The apartment, too.

"You said you were here on a mission," she said. "Does that mean you're leaving now?"

Pike nodded. "We've done what we came for."

Riley looked between them, heart racing. Then she stepped forward. "Take me with you."

Scotty stared. "Riley—"

"I'm not safe here," she admitted. "I've got nothing tying me down except a past I'm trying to escape. I'm trained. I can fight. Hell, I can probably kick most of your crew's asses. And I want more than this. More than a rundown gym and looking over my shoulder."