There are plenty of people aboard the Enterprise capable of working the transporter controls, but Montgomery’s the best of them. He can do things other engineers only dream of, and if anything goes wrong, he’s likely the one that’ll set it right. He’s not surprised when he gets the order to report to the transporter room, in charge of beaming the captain’s party down through the planet’s magnetic storms. Apparently, it’s absolutely vital that the captain meet with the Mrennenimian queen immediately, preferably before the Klingons arrive in twenty-two minutes, which means no time to wait. A shuttle would never make it through the planet’s tumultuous atmosphere. Their best chance is to skip right down to the main council chamber, and Montgomery’s the best chance of that happening.
He hurries over from Engineering, jogging down the corridors—they’re already at yellow alert, so no one looks twice at him. He passes Riley on the way, heading in the opposite direction now that Montgomery’s come to relieve him, and they’ll need all hands with the engines. Then Montgomery’s rounding the corner and stepping through the self-opening doors.
“Here, Captain, I cannae guarantee this’ll work, but if we must—” He cuts off mid-word when he realizes that Captain Kirk has both hands down Mr. Spock’s pants.
Montgomery stumbles to a halt by the transporter controls and does a double take. Both the captain and commander quickly look up at him, faces a mixture of surprise and sudden embarrassment that Spock hides more successfully than Jim. Standing on the transporter pads, they’re both dressed down in alien garb, not that far off from old-fashioned Earth clothing—simple tunics and denim pants. Jim is turned to face Spock, one arm thrust down the side of his pants and the other right around his crotch.
Of course, Montgomery always suspected they were an item. They’re less subtle than they probably think they are. But now’s hardly the time to celebrate what’s surely a very loving union.
Abruptly, Jim wrenches his hands out. He straightens up, adjusting his own clothes, and stiffly informs Montgomery, “I was demonstrating to Mr. Spock how to tuck in his shirt.”
Montgomery pauses, then decides, “Sure you were, Captain. It’s none of my business.” He lifts a hand to show it’s fine and moves over to the transporter controls. There’s no time to look into it further. Out of sheer respect, he doesn’t chuckle, but he wants to. Montgomery quickly inputs the right specifications, calculating them all in his mind as his fingers fly across the controls, and then he looks up again, nodding that he’s ready.
Spock’s never looked so... Spock. He stares blankly at the wall over Montgomery’s shoulder and will probably never meet Montgomery’s eyes again. Jim’s mouth opens, probably to insist it was all very innocent, but then he just sighs and shakes his head. “Energize.”