"For the hundredth time, Commander--"
"It has been a mere three times you have repeated yourself, Mister Scott. Not one hundred."
Scotty resisted the urge to slap his palm to his forehead -- by some miracle -- and settled instead for rubbing his eyes. "It feels like a hundred," he said, drumming his fingertips on the notebook where he had been playing with a bunk theory for transwarp beaming for the past three years or so. Not something he ever expected to come into practice in his lifetime, and not something he would advocate for, but it was something to stretch his brain on. And Spock had shown a surprising amount of interest in what was, to Scotty's mind, a total lark.
He also had the feeling Spock was needling him right now, because while they still often could find themselves at cross-conversations -- even after what, a decade and a half of working together? -- he knew full well that Spock did have a sense of humor, and often it was even drier than Scotty's. Which was pretty impressive.
"I believe that these values could be modified considerably less conservatively."
"Aye, maybe if we want to beam someone through time. D'ye have any idea how long the re-materialization sequence would take? Ye might as well be usin' a transporter as a stasis field at that point, Mister Spock, because ye're not gonna be showin' up on the platform anytime soon." Scotty poked the page, playing up his own agitation just because he knew full well it would garner him a raised eyebrow and a likewise insincere look of superiority. "And the point o' this is to save time."
"Indeed, Mister Scott. Even taking into consideration the amount of time to re-materialization, you would be saving exactly five point two-three minutes." Spock raised an eyebrow and looked -- not jokingly, of course not, not him -- smugly superior, then took Scotty's pencil and copied the equation below the original, substituting in the new variables. "Here. I believe you will find I'm correct."
"Oh, no doubt," Scotty said, rolling his eyes in the most theatrical manner he could manage. "But that still wasn't the point."
Spock leaned back slightly in his chair, looking somehow even more smugly superior. "Then, if I may, what was?"
Makin' you feel better after that whole mess with yer father nearly dyin', Scotty thought, but definitely didn't say. Instead, he had to come up with some other reason, and stood up in a right and proper huff, every bit of bad acting ability he had. "I thought that ye might be able to share some insight into this formula ye seem to show some interest in, but if all it's gonna save is a mere five point two-one--"
"--five point two-three," Spock corrected.
Scotty knew that, but even so. He threw a hand in the air, grabbed his notebook and marched for the door. "I don't know why I bothered."
He left Spock back there looking quietly not-amused (because he was a Vulcan, right?), and perhaps still a little superior, and didn't grin to himself until after the door was closed.
Chapter Notes: Scotty, Spock, a transwarp beaming formula and a well-orchestrated dance. Written for lil black dog.