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Title: The Gay Gordons
Author: Jazz Man
Rating: PG
Summary: It's Burn's Night and Scotty
hosts a party.
Note: The dances are all real, as is the Burns that's quoted.
Unfortunatly, I can't remember anything
about the St Bernards Waltz,
but I think it's a dance for one couple. And, yes, I am a Craig.
Disclaimer: Disclaiming
already.
The Gay Gordons
Jazz Man
At 1715 exactly the following message appeared simultaneously at
the
workstations of all 430 crewmembers of the Starship Enterprise:
Lt Commander Scott requests and requires the
pleasure of
your company at 1900 on the 25th of January in the mess hall to
celebrate Burn's Night. Haggis (with liberal
doses of whisky) will
be served at 1930 and traditional ceileih dancing will follow. The
ladies in the crew are requested
to wear formal attire. The
gentlemen are requested to wear traditional Scottish Highland
dress. Mr Scott will be more
than happy to assist in the choosing
of an appropriate tartan for the kilts. Anyone found referring to
the aforementioned
clothing as a 'skirt', especially if he, or she,
has the good fortune to work in Engineering, will be forced to clean
the
Enterprise's hull with a toothbrush (yes, Mr Riley, that does
mean you). Further information can be obtained from the ship's
computer
or from Mr Scott himself.
****
"So, Scotty, what tartan should I wear?"
Scotty looked at the doctor and
decided he was more than a
few sheets to the wind. "Well, I always thought 'McCoy' was an
Irish name."
Before
McCoy could complain, Kirk asked, "What was your
mother's name, Bones?"
"Stuart." He turned to Scotty. "You're not
going to tell
me that one's Irish, too, are you?"
"No, Lenny, that one's Scottish." He frowned. "How do you
spell
it?"
"I-t," said McCoy, before bursting into gales of laughter.
More like a whole linen closet to the wind,
thought
Scotty. "I meant the name. It is with a 'u' or a 'w'?"
McCoy shut his eyes as though trying to remember.
"With
a 'u'," he said finally.
"What does that mean?" asked Kirk.
He would have to come clean. "It means,
Captain, that the
doctor should wear Royal Stuart."
"Royal?" asked McCoy. "You mean I could be king of
Scotland?"
He stood, if somewhat unsteadily, and crossed to the
wall next to Kirk's bed. He took down a sword and went back to
Scotty.
"I dub thee Sir Fix-a-lot," he said, touching the sword to
the other man's shoulders.
Scotty shot Kirk a despairing
look, but the captain just
smiled.
The smile faded rapidly when McCoy turned on him.
"I dub thee Sir Wank-a-lot."
"Bones!"
McCoy
smiled innocently.
Scotty looked at him appraisingly. "You know, Len, I don't
know if you've got the legs for a
kilt. You might want to go for
tartan trews."
"Don't have the legs for it?" asked McCoy. "I'll show you
how good
my legs are." His hand was already at his belt buckle.
"Bones!" said Kirk again. This time it had the desired
effect.
McCoy
sat back down. "I bet Spock's got the legs for it,"
he said dreamily.
Kirk and Scotty exchanged glances.
"He
probably won't come," said Kirk.
"You could make it oblig-, oblig-," he gave up. "You could
make everyone come,
Jim."
"I'm not making it obligatory just so you can see Spock's
legs, Bones."
McCoy stuck his tongue out.
"Spoilsport."
****
Kirk turned as he heard the turbolift doors open and tried
not to smile. "Good morning,
Doctor."
McCoy put a hand to his head. "Not so loud." He grabbed a
cup of coffee from a passing yeoman and leant
against the railing.
"What can I do for you on this fine morning?"
"Cut it out," snapped McCoy.
"Get
out of bed on the wrong side this morning?" asked Kirk
with a smile.
McCoy lowered his voice. "I wanted to find
out if I did
anything really embarrassing last night."
Kirk grinned. This was going to be fun. "You proclaimed
yourself
'King of Scots', made Scotty and I your knights and tried
to get me to make Scotty's party obligatory."
"Obligatory?"
He frowned. "Why would I want to do that?"
Kirk shot a quick glance towards the science
station. "Something to do
with wanting to see Spock's legs."
McCoy went beet red. "I, uh, I think I have to get to
sickbay," he stuttered
nervously, already backing towards the
turbolift.
As the doors shut close, a single word was heard on the
bridge.
"Fascinating."
****
Scotty
was more than a little surprised when Spock turned up
at his door. Spock had never been to his quarters before.
"Commander
Spock. What can I do for you?" he asked, letting
the other man in.
"I need your . . . advice."
Scotty's eyes
went wide. "My advice?"
"I need to know what kind of tartan to wear."
"I dindna think you would be coming. Not
that you're not
welcome," he added hastily.
"I was unsure if I would be attending, but I have decided to
do so."
"Well,
I hear that there's a Vulcan tartan, but I've never
seen it. I could send a message home and get someone to find out
for
me."
"No need," said Spock. "My mother's mother is from
Scotland. Before she married my grandfather, her name was
Craig."
He smiled. "A good name, that one. The Craigs were part of
the Gordons, so that's the one you'll be wanting."
"Gordon?"
"Dress
Gordon, aye. If you put your measurements into the
fabricator, it'll give you what you're after. Now, Mr Spock,
there's
an art to wearing a kilt, so if you need any help, dinna
fret, just come and ask."
Spock nodded gravely. "Thank
you, Mr Scott."
****
Scotty's Burn's Supper was greeted with various levels of
enthusiasm, but when the 25th
of January finally rolled around the
ship was buzzing with excitement.
Scotty himself had been on fidgety for the
whole week. Now,
however, he seemed remarkably calm. He stood at the mess hall doors
resplendent in kilt and plaid and
was obviously enjoying greeting
the crew. On his arm was Uhura looking equally, if not more
stunning in a long evening
gown.
There had been a brief pause, but now the next guests were
arriving. Captain Kirk walked with a certain swagger.
Next to him
was his latest conquest.
"Captain," said Scotty cheerfully.
"Scotty."
"I've put the senior
staff on the top table," he said,
pointing to the table at the head of the room where Chekov and Sulu
were already seated.
"I'm
looking forward to this very much," said Kirk before
going to join the others.
Next to arrive was McCoy. He had
decided to follow Scotty's
advice and was indeed wearing tartan trews. He was also hiding
something behind his back.
With a flourish he produced a rather old
looking bottle and handed it to Scotty. "I wasn't sure if you'd be
serving
the real stuff tonight, so I brought this just in case."
Scotty read the label. "Glenmorangie. 15 year old. Where
did
you find it?"
McCoy grinned. "I have my sources."
"How about sharing them?"
"What's in it for me?"
Scotty
didn't hesitate. "I'll tell you where I got that
bourbon you were raving about."
"It's a deal, but after the party."
He turned to
Uhura. "You look wonderful."
She smiled. "You're not bad yourself. I don't think
there's anything
wrong with your legs."
McCoy blushed. "I'll go find a seat," he said, removing
himself from their company.
Uhura
laughed. "He'll never live that one down."
"No, love, I dinna suppose he will." Scotty looked around
the mess hall.
There was hardly an empty seat. His eyes fell on
the three at the top table. Two were for him and Uhura. The third
was
for Spock who seemed to have changed his mind about coming.
"He'll be here, Scotty."
He smiled at her. "And
how do you know that?"
She grinned. "Because he's behind you."
Scotty whirled round. "Mr Spock."
Spock
didn't look the least bit uncomfortable despite the
strangeness of his dress, in fact he carried it off with a certain
aplomb.
"Mr Scott, Lt Uhura, good evening."
"Good evening, Spock."
"There's a space for you up next to Dr McCoy."
Spock
nodded and went up to the table.
Uhura caught Scotty's arm and whispered in his ear. "Len
was right, he has got
the legs for it."
****
Scotty was really enjoying himself now. He had piped in the
haggis and was now addressing
it.
"Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan o' the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch,
tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm."
He could see the non-Scots in the crew trying
to understand
him and wondered if he should have put up subtitles.
"His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An' cut
you up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin,
rich!"
He smiled at their reactions and decided to take pity on them. He'd
only do one more verse.
"Ye Powers
wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups
in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!"
With a certain amount of relish Scotty cut
into the haggis. He
smiled broadly; it was almost like being home.
****
The dancing had begun.
Scotty
had gone to call the dances. "The first dance
is 'The Dashing White Sergeant'. Traditionally you need two women
and
a man, or two men and a woman, but any three people will do just
fine."
McCoy could see Uhura coming towards him.
Mellowed by the
whisky, he allowed himself to be dragged up. He almost changed his
mind when Uhura went to find her
second victim.
"I do not know how to dance, Lieutenant."
"None of us do, Spock." She smiled. "Scotty told me
it's
considered an insult to refuse the first dance."
Reluctantly, Spock rose to his feet. "Very well."
McCoy
was astonished. Spock was dancing. Then it occurred
to McCoy that Spock was dancing with him. Before he had time to
ponder
the situation, Scotty started to give out instructions.
The dance was pretty easy, and McCoy was surprised to find
just
how much he was enjoying himself. Uhura was certainly enjoying
herself. Spock seemed to be concentrating on getting the
moves
right, but he didn't look like he was going to bolt.
When the dance ended the three stopped.
"This
next one's called 'The St Bernard's Waltz' and you
only need two."
Uhura turned to the men. "I promised Sulu a dance,
but you
two should dance this one." Glancing at Spock, she added, "Scotty
says it's traditional to dance at least two
dances and I'm sure
Lenny'll let you lead."
"I would not like to insult Mr Scott's traditions."
Uhura grinned
and left to find Sulu.
McCoy looked down at the floor and then up at Spock. "You
don't have to dance if you don't
want to, Spock. I'm sure you
wouldn't have any trouble finding someone else to dance with."
"I would rather dance
with you, Doctor," said Spock, taking
a step closer.
"You would?" He sounded almost hopeful.
"We are already
stood together."
McCoy's face fell, but he didn't object when Spock took his
place at his side. At first he concentrated
on getting the moves
right, but the dance wasn't complicated and his thoughts began to
wander. How could he have expected
Spock to have anything other
than a completely logical reason for dancing with him? He tried
desperately to ignore the
feeling of Spock's hands on him, but the
inhuman warmth was much more intoxicating that the alcohol had been.
He
wondered briefly what Spock's reaction would be if he
knew. Then a disturbing thought entered his head. Spock was a
touch
telepath. He trusted that Spock wouldn't read his thoughts
without permission, but he'd read that strong emotions sometimes
came
through anyway.
McCoy was immensely relieved when the music stopped. "I
think I'll take a breather," he said, pulling
away from Spock.
"A most logical idea, Doctor," said Spock, following him to
a table.
They sat in silence
until Spock spoke.
"So, Doctor, what so you think of my legs?"
McCoy didn't look up. If he had, he would have
seen the
mischievous glint in Spock's eyes. As it was, he took a gulp of
whisky and decided to throw caution to the
wind. "They're pretty
fine, Spock, pretty damn fine." He continued to stare at the
table. At least Spock hadn't got
up and left.
Spock had no intention of leaving, not yet anyway. "I, of
course, have had no opportunity of seeing
yours."
McCoy frowned. "You wouldn't want to see mine, Spock.
Scotty was right, I have terrible legs. I'm too old,
too thin and
too ugly."
"You are hardly old, Leonard."
McCoy's head jerked up at the sound of his name.
Spock
continued, "Even though as a Vulcan I have been taught
to ignore outward appearances, I would not consider you ugly. As
for
your weight, I am sure you could devise a food plan to suit your
needs."
He chuckled bitterly. "You have an answer
for everything,
don't you, Spock?"
"Not for everything," he said, shaking his head. "Not for
why I find myself
attracted to you. Not for why I am here."
"Here?" asked McCoy, still trying to comprehend what Spock
had said before.
"I
wished to see your reaction. That is surely not logical."
"Well, I don't know. Maybe it is if you find me . . ."
"Attractive,
Leonard."
"Attractive. If you find me attractive." He frowned. "You
find me attractive, Spock?"
"I have said
so. Vulcans do not lie."
"You're only half Vulcan," said McCoy.
"True," said Spock, "But I do not lie."
"Then
there must be something faulty in your logic circuits
if you find me attractive."
Spock nodded gracefully. "That
may be, but I am willing to
try anyway."
"Try?" asked McCoy. "I never even said I found you
attractive."
A
flash of fear crossed Spock's face. Had he got it wrong?
McCoy smiled. He stood and offered Spock his hand. "Are
you
dancing?"
"Are you asking?" McCoy nodded. "Then I am dancing." He
took McCoy's hand and let himself be pulled up.
Scotty's
voice finally penetrated their awareness. "Take
your partners for 'The Gay Gordons'"
McCoy laughed. "They're playing
our song."
Spock frowned but seemed willing enough to dance. He
whispered into McCoy's ear, "I had hoped we might
end up somewhere
else."
McCoy grinned. "There's time enough for that. For now,
just shut up an dance."
End
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