Writer's Block

Of Angels, Paradoxes, and Romulan Ale (Multiverse)

Inspired by N2Fitnss on Twitter, who wanted shenanigans in a crossover between two of my Scomiche AUs. I'm definitely not writing said actual crossover, but a return visit to the Multiverse Cafe concept (which I used in the Drabble A Day September 2017 challenge) wasn't out of the question for my struggling brain.

Thank you to Ehcimocs for looking it over.

This will read better if you're familiar my longer AU fics. In fact I doubt it'll make any sense at all if you're not. Also, spoilers for them.

Scott hesitated at the door of the Multiverse Cafe. His experiences there were always intriguing, but they required a certain amount of mental...preparation to get through without losing his ever loving mind. He blew out a breath, gathered his thoughts, and pushed open the door.

The cafe wasn't particularly busy today. Only four other patrons, although they happened to be two pairs of Scotts and Mitches, which, as always, promised to be...interesting.

"Oh, fuck you," one of the Mitches was saying, dressed in a set of what appeared to be red and black pajamas. His voice held that pissed off tone only a Mitch could manage. "That was one time!"

His Scott, also dressed in the odd pajamas, just smirked at him, which was apparently not the response Mitch was hoping for, because he clapped his hands in a huff and disappeared in a flash of light.

"Holy shit?" Scott exclaimed. How was that a thing that could happen?

Pajama Scott, however, didn't seem as surprised as the situation warranted. He just rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a fucking baby!" he said to the ceiling. There was a pause. "We're going to have to talk about this eventually!" Another pause. "Don't make me drag Picard's Q into another 'incessant domestic squabble', you know he'll bitch about it for a literal eon."

With that, Pajama Scott also disappeared in a flash of light, still smirking.

Scott was pretty sure his mouth was gaping open. That wasn't...that wasn't normal, right? Even in other universes?

Apparently not, because the remaining Scott and Mitch were also gaping at the space the other pair had just occupied. These two were seated at a booth a few tables away, dressed up in outfits that made them look like extras from Game of Thrones. Maybe they'd grown up to be actors instead of singers in their universe?

"Holy shit," Actor Mitch said.

Yes, thank you. That was the response Scott was hoping for.

However, his returning sense of normalcy didn't last long, because Actor Mitch stood up, leaning heavily on the table as he did so. The reason became apparent as he turned, revealing a figure that looked suspiciously like either of Scott's sisters in month eight of their pregnancies.

Upon closer inspection, the other Scott looked very much the same.

Another version of him was somehow pregnant.

Preg. Nant.

Scott's brain short-circuited right about then. He was a bit worried that it might actually have leaked out his ear and onto the dirty checkerboard tile of the floor.

Mitch, however, didn't seem to notice either Scott's brain or Scott himself. Instead, he approached the table the pajamaed couple had been sitting at. "How'd they do that?" His eyes seemed to be staring into a middle distance of nothing specific. "Did they solve it?"

Apparently-Not-An-Actor Scott waddled -- waddled -- up behind him, his eyes also unfocused. "I can't see any...hang on." He muttered something in a language Scott didn't recognize, and suddenly what seemed to be an actual fucking angel, except kind of transparent and blue, appeared beside him, wings and all.

Yep, there went his mind. Absolutely gone.

Not-An-Actor, Angel-Summoning, Fucking Pregnant Scott spoke to the angel in whatever language it was for a few moments, sighing at its response. He shook his head as the angel disappeared. "Not magic, at least not as we know it. They didn't solve the self-transportation paradox."

"Damn." Mitch's nose scrunched up in disappointment. Scott might not have a clue what the fuck their universe was about, but he could still read any Mitch's facial expressions like a book. "Ah well. You done, or are you going to finish that pie?"

Pregnant Scott looked forlornly back at their table, but shook his head. "I want to, but I'll just make myself sick."

Mitch smiled at him. "Lookit you, making wise life choices. You're going to be a great mom." With a strange twist of his wrist, Mitch made a small pile of chunky gold coins appear in his hand and sent them floating -- floating -- over to their abandoned table before heading for the door.

Pregnant Scott snorted. "Oh fuck you, you're going to be Mom."

"That's not what the oath decided!" Mitch called over his shoulder. A weird carriage thing pulled up outside the window, looking like something from a fairy tale, but devoid of horses or space to put an engine or anything else that might conceivable propel it.

"Fuck the oath, too," Other Scott muttered as he followed his boyfriend? Husband? Spouse? Jesus, Scott's head hurt. Followed his probably lover co-parent insert-some-significant-title-here into their carriage contraption and off into the void between universes.

Scott stared after them for a long time, not really able to process much, until a female voice cleared her throat. A Kirstie stood at the counter, and Scott hesitantly made his way over to her and sat down on a stool.

"What can I get you?"

"Do you have any alcohol?" he asked hopefully. "Something strong? Maybe tequila or vodka?"

She popped her gum. "We have Romulan Ale."

"Okay, sure. Thanks." Scott had no idea what Romulan Ale was -- blue, apparently, judging by the bottle Kirstie pulled from under the counter -- but he needed some booze to try to clear his head. What's the worst that could happen?

It turns out he'd regret asking.

Thoughts?