Title: The Key Incident
Crossover: Star Trek: Enterprise
Disclaimer: BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon and ST:Ent to Paramount (I think).
Summary: TwistedShorts #04 – Out of Time. Spell or transporter accident? Dawn’s on Enterprise.
Author's notes: I think this is the Trekkie in me screaming out to run away from the menace of Star Wars *grin*. This is set in the 4th season of ST:Ent part way through ‘Daedalus’ – aka the Transporter Accident ep.
I landed with, well I didn’t really land I just was… after several minutes of a weird tingly sensation. I’m sitting in some sort of metal circle thing, I can’t see, my hair’s in the way, and I’m still in my Puppet-Angel PJ’s Willow made for me.
“Damnit! Not again. I really wanted to watch ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’, Matthew McConaughey is hot in that weird you-don’t-see-it-‘til-you-actually-see-him-in-a-film way… ooh, still got my popcorn.”
I take a handful of popcorn as I look up, there’s a weird feel to this place, all metal and lights. There’s some old black guy in a wheelchair behind a funky looking desk.
“Huh, weirdness, so what am I kidnapped for this time?”
“Kidnapped? You’re not k-”
“What do you call taking me to some weird place against my will, then?”
“I was just conducting and experiment, there shouldn’t be anyone out here. How long have you been here, Ms-?”
“Summers, Dawn Summers.” Ok, not a usual kidnap then, but something is definitely not right here.
“How long? As long as you could see me.” Duh.
“No, you misunderstand. I meant; how long have you been stuck in the Barrens?”
“Uh, no, you’re the one misunderstanding here, I was at home with my sister watching a movie, which I’m now missing thanks to you.”
There’s a guy heading towards us, not as old as Giles, but heading in that direction. He’s in some weird jumpsuit thingy; it almost looks like a uniform, not like one I’ve ever seen before.
“Jon. We have a little problem.”
Little, who is he calling little? He should meet Buffy; see what she says to a comment like that. This Jon guy has a shocked look on his face, and it’s more than a ‘where did she come from’ look.
“Miss Summers, Captain Jonathan Archer.” He reaches his hand towards mine and I shake it, wondering how the hell he knows my name, unless he’s been there all the time.
“Call me Jon.” And now ‘Emory’ is looking at him like he’s a few screws loose.
“Miss Summers, you appear to have jumped in the future somehow; you are onboard my ‘spaceship’ Enterprise.”
“Ok, who did what spell?”
“Spell? Oh no Miss Summers, this is some sort of transporter accident.”
“What were you trying to do, Emory? You could have somehow triggered a spell at the same time.”
“A spell? Jon?”
“Why don’t we take this somewhere else? We really need a transporter *room* rather than part of a corridor… Miss Summers, why-?”
“Dawn.” All this ‘Miss Summers’ stuff is getting annoying.
He nods, “Dawn, why don’t you follow me?”
We’re in Jon’s office now, he’s seated at his desk, Emory and myself in front of it and this elf woman has joined us, and boy, have fashions changed or what?
“Dawn, this is my First Officer, T’Pol, T’Pol, Dawn Summers.”
“Miss Summers.” Her eyes bug slightly as she looks from me to Jon; her only reaction telling me that she knows what’s going on here too.
“What sort of demon is she?”
“I assure you Miss Summers, I am no demon, I am a Vulcan.”
I raise my eyebrows and look at Jon.
“Andrew is gonna be so jealous.”
He grins; I guess he knows about Andrew too. His face changes, something more serious, I guess we’re back to business.
“Dawn, what year are you from?”
He nods again and calls up something on his computer, I suddenly realise that if this is the future and he knows who I am, he must know what’s going to happen to me, to Buffy, to everyone. This revelation must show in my eyes or something,
“No, Dawn. I can’t change the timelines, we’ve had enough bother with that recently.”
“Ok. How do you know who I am?”
“It’s in my records.”
“Jon, what is going on?”
“Emory, I’ll tell you once Dawn’s home.”
At least he thinks I can go home. It’s in his records? What does that mean? I’m obviously not too well known as Emory didn’t know who I was, although I guess he could have spent half his life in a cupboard and not know stuff. He knows about me and Demons, he must know about slayers too.
“Emory, I need you to work with T’Pol and Trip to try and get Dawn home, she is still needed there.”
I’m still needed? Great, more apocalypses.
I’m now back on the transporter pad, they think they’ve got it figured now. I hope so; this is the third try.
“You ready Dawn?”
“Yes, Trip.” Better than Matthew McConaughey…
The last thing I see is him winking at me… and then I’m back on the sofa wondering how the hell I’m supposed to explain this.
“Captain’s Log – Classified Code Slayer 314.
We got Dawn home on the third try. Those of us that met her in the few short hours she was with us miss her already, I saw that wink, I’m sure if Dawn was a little older Trip would have wanted more…
The records show that Dawn Summers ‘disappeared’ in 2015 never to return, the reasons are so classified I can’t get to them. Lower members in the New Watchers Council have had many conspiracy theories over the years; even as the world and the council changed and demons were eliminated in time for them to face new threats, like the Xindi; these theories continued.
From what I can gather, what was termed as Dawn’s ‘keyness’ was causing problems again, enough that it was decided that Dawn should be sent somewhere safe.”
“T’Pol to the Captain.”
“Computer, pause log. T’Pol?”
“Captain, you are needed at the transporter.”
“I’m on my way.” After the disaster with Quinn I dread to think what’s happened this time.
The decision to perform the spell was easy, in the end; my being there was too dangerous for everyone else. Willow designed the spell; it should send me to a safe haven, safe from the demons that hunt me.
I packed my life into two suitcases, said my goodbyes and stood, trying not to cry as Willow chanted.
The sensation I felt as the spell took hold was not a new one; I’d felt it twice before, ten years ago. It looked like I was to spend the remainder of my life out of my own time.