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Summary: On board the USS Relativity, Ensign McClain has recreated his favorite tv show, BTVS. But he soon discovers that not everything is fiction.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Star Trek > Multiple Series
Harry Potter > Multiple Pairings > Other
(Current Donor)deiticlastFR18510,1971246,46623 Jun 119 Nov 14No

Meeting Cain

Hi, everyone. I'm going to try something a little different here. Hope you like it. Star Trek, BTVS, Harry Potter, and Doctor Who do not belong to me. This is my official disclaimer for my entire story, so I don't expect to do this again. Thanks to DWduck for being my beta on this. Please review!

Into every generation she is born: one girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer.

“She alone,” Buffy murmured. She ran a finger over the tip of her stake, sensing rather than feeling the stains of blood and ash that tainted its wooden shaft. Below her, in the streets, a coven of vampires was gathering silently. The narrow alley was filling up fast as they drifted in from all directions . Only the sound of lightly splashing water could be heard from the hushed gathering, the only smells that of rain and wet refuse from a nearby dumpster . Light shimmered off of shallow pools of standing water, still in the breathless midnight air. This was not good.

Buffy had scouted the area beforehand, noting the exits and escape routes that both she and any. . . body else might take. She was pretty sure that she had every door and manhole covered, but she knew that it was only a matter of time before one of the vampires proved her wrong--Murphy’s law and all that. The lack of movement caught her attention, forcing her wondering mind back to the mission at hand. Every muscle tensed, every fiber of her being stood on edge as she readied herself for the fight of her life. This was her element. This was what she had been made for .

One girl in all the world. She could still hear Giles’ posh British brogue as if it were yesterday, the first day they’d met back in Sunnydale. The Sunnydale that wasn’t there anymore. Neither was Giles.

They’d come to Cleveland with every intention of shutting down the local Hellmouth for good. It should have been a fast and easy job. This Hellmouth didn’t have even a fraction of the power that the one in Sunnydale had once had. But, it did have something that its larger counterpart had only aspired to: a being that had killed the Slayer. Faith and Giles had gone out one night on patrol, and had never come back. Buffy had found what remained of their bodies, their limbs and viscera lined up to spell one word: Cain.

There had been more than one Slayer because of a Buffy’s tendency to come back from the dead and a botched spell from Willow. Now all the other girls had gone home, no longer safe doing what they were born to do. Faith was dead. The man who had been like a father to her in the absence of the biological donor, the one who had guided her and comforted her all of these years, was dead. Dawn, her sister , Buffy had sent off with Andrew, safe in a remote villa in Italy.

So now there was only one Slayer left. One Slayer in all the world to hold back the Hordes of Evil that would destroy the world in all of its grimy, stinky glory.

Well, one Slayer and witch. A badass witch, if she could say so herself. Which she did. After all, said witch had once almost destroyed the world herself, so that had to have given her at least a decent-sized amount of street-cred, in any forum. Oh, and Xander . Couldn’t start a mission without Xander. Not only was he her sounding board, pointing out stupid flaws in her otherwise brilliant plans, but Buffy didn’t know if she could entirely function without the emotional support that he provided in her life. He was her crutch when the shit hit the fan and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. His was the chest she’d drenched with tears of pain and loss the morning she’d found two of the most important people in her life ripped apart with such savagery that even she couldn’t hold it together. Without him there, she probably would have done something very stupid. Like getting herself and a lot of other people killed.

Searching among those gathered, she finally found the unfortunate pale, balding scalp of a vampire she’d “made” in the Whole Foods a few blocks back the previous night. What he had been doing there, she had no clue. But she’d followed him to this exact spot, where he’d gone through a door almost completely covered in rust at the base of the building across from where she now stood, perched on the ledge of a crappy apartment building . His sandy hair could do nothing to cover up the bald-spot near the back of his crown, which was too bad, because he’d have been pretty damned cute otherwise. His suit and tie stood out in stark contrast to the dirt and the grime of his surroundings, as well as the flannel shirts and blue-jeans a lot of the other vampires gathered here were wearing.

Buffy imagined jumping down into their midst, fists, feet, and stakes flying, ash and screams of anger and death filling the air. It would feel so good, the sensation of bones and flesh giving way beneath her bare hands. She could almost taste the gritty tang of vampires disintegrating beneath the honed point of her wooden weapon as she plunged it deep into their lifeless hearts. It would feel good. But she couldn’t do it. Because here was something did not bode well.

Whenever vampires usually get together, they are generally a rowdy bunch, breaking things, burning things, fighting amongst themselves. They were pretty much programmed for wreaking havoc. They weren’t supposed to be standing dead still, silent as the night air that refused to lessen the heat that beat upon every inch of her exposed skin, despite the time of night. Wiping away yet another bead of sweat from her face (giving up on the beads that trickled their way down between her breasts and down her glistening back), she shifted her position, stretching out her stiff leg. Knew I shouldn’t have worn the tank top, she thought to herself as she awaited the arrival of whatever the hell all of these solemn vampires seemed to be waiting on.

Neither Buffy nor the vampires in the street below her had to wait long, as the creaking of the rusted-out door signaled a vast influx of the awaiting horde. Holding back until the very last vampire was inside, Buffy stepped back from the ledge, taking a few steps back for good measure. With a quick run and jump, she vaulted over the impressive gap between the two buildings, landing lightly on the roof of the Rusty Door, as she was beginning to think of it. Heading over to the door leading down to the stairwell, her hand was on the door when it suddenly burst open, knocking her back into the shallow wall on the far side of the roof.

She could barely see the slim, tall figure as it sauntered out of the stairwell, her vision gone all screwy due to massive trauma to the head—from a freaking wall! Now more than a little pissed off, Buffy shook the blurriness from her eyes as she listened for his foot-steps on the tar-covered gravel of the roof. Except that she could hear anything. Her vision cleared up, but she didn’t see the guy who’d knocked her silly. She was about to jump to her feet when she heard his voice behind her. “Did you get my message, Slayer? Do you truly understand why it is that I have chosen such an exhibition of inhumane violence? It is imperative that you are cognizant of the negative psychological stress of which I am striving for, as it is the motivation behind such displays,” “ the master vampire explained with a chilling lack of emotion. “I —”

“Computer!” a voice rang out from the stairwell. Buffy, who was already confused with the crazy man who could move faster than even she thought possible, would have sworn on her several lives that the voice belonged to Xander. “Freeze program.”

Everything stopped, the world frozen by an entity vastly more powerful than any Buffy had ever met. Xander—Ensign Jonathon McClain—emerged from the stairwell and strode past the frozen form of his “friend,” and addressed the darkened figure standing on the low wall of the roof.

“Captain, I’m not so sure that the villain of this story would ever talk like that .”

Captain Data, unsure of where he had “gone wrong,” replayed the events of the holo-play back in a millionth of a second. “Even as I am unfamiliar with the role of the villain, Ensign McClain, I do not see the mistake in my verbiage. Was I not ‘sinister’ enough ?” he asked.

Jon didn’t know how to explain it to his superior officer without the exasperation he was feeling in his voice bleeding through, so he diverted the question with a suggestion: “Why don’t we leave off it for now? What do you say, Captain?”

Data, ever the pragmatist, checked his internal sensors and agreed. “Indeed, Ensign McClain, I do believe it best that we ‘leave off,’ as you say. It is nearing sixteen hundred hours, and you are due at your station within six hours. You had best get some rest.”

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