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Twisting Reality

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Summary: They don’t know how they got there. What they do know is that this universe is nothing like what they had seen on TV…and to stay away from red shirts.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Star Trek > Star Trek 2009 > Xander-CenteredwinterdFR1812,4821434,53110 Jun 0910 Jun 09No
Title: Twisting Reality
Rated: PG-13
Summary: They don’t know how they got there nor why. What they do know is that this universe is nothing like what they had seen on TV…and to also stay away from red shirts.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss owns all things Buffy. Roddenberry, Abram, and others own all things Star Trek.
Spoilers: The new Star Trek movie.
AN: Okay, so I loved the new Star Trek movie a little too much. We’ll see how this goes. If I’m wrong on some points, I do apologies. I was never a huge Trekkie, but this just wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote something. And if the ST characters are off, I do apologies. I hope someone likes.

Thanks to MuseInspiration for the beta.



Prologue: Bad Impression

It’s always disturbing to wake up and find you’ve been knocked unconscious. It was never a good sign, not even for Xander. Oh, no. For him, it usually meant that something big, nasty, and magical -- most likely with very large teeth and Jonesing to kill his best friend -- had attacked, and he had made himself a Xander-shaped target. What generally came after was screaming and slaying, followed by much attention from his worried friends to see if his brain was still working. (Some nasty voice in the back of his head that sounded like a certain bleached, undead pain-in-his-ass asked ‘what brain?’ Xander ignored it.) So, yeah, waking up unconscious was never good in the Big Book of Good and Bad Things To Happen To Scoobies.

Surprisingly, his head wasn’t really killing him. That was weird. Usually a concussion accompanied these fun, impromptu naps that were forced on him; but it didn’t feel like it this time. That was…well, weird.

Still, consciousness was a coming anyway, so he figured he might as well see what tried to kill them this time.

Leaning from way too much experienced in the past, Xander did several things when he opened his eye.

First, his foggy brain tried to remember where he should be. Last thing he remembered, he was sitting in the library, researching some demon whose name he was pretty sure came out of a Harry Potter book, and eating a donut. Unless they installed a harsh white room with medical equipment during nappy time, he was pretty sure he wasn’t there anymore.

Okay, so, don’t panic. Where there was medical equipment, there were doctors, who were only scary in a completely normal, human way.

So, onto number two. If he wasn’t in the library, then where the hell was he? That was probably a poor choice of words, considering that one of these days he could actually wind up waking up in hell, but Xander didn’t dwell on that though. So, he was in a hospital? But why?

God, he hoped he didn’t choke on his donut because that would just be embarrassing, and Faith would never let him live it down.

Faith. Was she even there? No. She and Principal Wood had taken the Newbies out on patrol. At least, he thought they had. There was still a whole lot of fuzziness going on, so he wasn’t real sure. Buffy was there, though. He remembered that. So were Wills and Dawn. And possibly Giles because, well, when wasn’t he in the library?

Okay, he needed to focus. So, third - or, technically fourth, since he got the where he was supposed to be, where he was, and who was supposed to with him. Fourth, who was with him.

As if to answer his question, a face appeared over him. It wasn’t one that Xander recognized, but there was something familiar about it. The guy attached to the face was probably about his age, with dark eyes and a Daemon haircut. And Xander must have hit his head harder than he thought because he would swear he had elf-ears.

Oh, God, he died choking on a donut and went to futuristic Middle Earth.

“You are awake,” elf-man said.

Drawing a deep breath, Xander pushed himself on the bed. He was going to go for something witty-nervous to try and show the guy that he wasn’t as freaked out as he actually was, but his chest and stomach tightened painfully. Instead of the witty, not-afraid of you joke, he rolled onto his side and coughed.

“Ouch.”

Note to self: Sitting up is bad. Don’t do it again. Thanks a ton, Xander.

Elf-man said, “It would be advisable that you restrict your movements as much as possible until Dr. Merrik instructs otherwise.”

“Okay. That sounds…like a good idea,” Xander said with a final cough. “Please tell me that I at least got in one good punch to thing that did this to me before it Mike Tyson-ed me.”

“If you are asking whether you were injured due to a physical altercation between yourself and someone named ‘Mike Tyson’, I can assure you that was not the case,” elf-man said after a moment's pause. “You and your two companions were in a transporter accident.”

There were certain things that Xander never expected to hear in his life; things like ‘You have just won the Superbowl!’, ‘Congratulations, Mr. President’, ‘I’m proud of you, son’. Those were things that he knew were things that he was likely never to hear. ‘Likely’ was the key word (and, yes, he did listen to a few of Willow’s English lessons) meaning that they were still in the realm of possibility, but just not likely.

Being told that he was in a ‘transporter accident’ took a left at the realm of possibility and kept on going until it hit fantasy land. Or, in this case, TV land. He knew of only one place that had people with pointy ears, weird medical facilities, and transporters, and it wasn’t in a little place he liked to call reality.

Xander opened his eye. Stupidly, he ignored his previous note to self and sat up. Once again, pain tightened around him like a vice, sending him reeling back on his bed.

“I must insist that you cease from sitting up like that,” the elf said. At least he hoped he was an elf. An elf he could handle.

“Where are we?” he groaned. “Please, don’t tell me we’re where I think we are.”

“It is illogical to assume that I should know where you think you are when I have never spoken to you before and therefore cannot conclude with any certainty where you think you should be.” Rambling logic. Not good. Not good at all. “As to where you are, you and your companions are on board a Starfleet transport vessel orbiting Earth.”

Rambling logic. Pointy ears. Starfleet. This all pointed to a very bad place.

Though, he had to admit, a small part of him thought that if he really was where he thought he was, it would be the coolest thing ever. Of course, that small part was currently being told to ‘shut up’ by the larger part of him that was panicking at the thought that his life had just become a television show starring William Shatner.

“What is your name?” the Vulcan asked.

Vulcan. So cool. And so wrong.

“Xander Harris,” he said with a sigh. “And I think my life just pulled a Scott Bakula.”

The eyebrow raised and that bad feeling just got worse.

Swallowing, because he didn’t know if he really wanted to hear this or not, Xander asked, “Who are you?”

The Vulcan turned his head in a way that Xander knew. No way.

“I am Spock.”

When he looked back on the incident, Xander would have to say that using a Klingon swear phrase probably wasn’t the best way to make a first impression on one of his childhood hero. Spock, he later found out, whole heartedly agreed.



Leonard McCoy was having a bad day. In fact, it had been one of those days where all he wanted to do was find a dark bar that served a good bourbon and hope that no one came near him to ask some asinine question like ‘what’s the matter’ or ‘don’t you think you've had enough.’

The idiots that he worked for had scheduled him for a double shift, which would have been fine had they chosen to do it any other weekend but that weekend. Jocelyn had been insistent that he be there today to pick out wedding invitations and do other ‘wedding things.’ Wedding invitations. As long as the nuptials took place, he could give a damn about what the invitations looked like, but he was going to catch hell for not being there. And all because his stupid Chief of Medicine had decided to ignore the request he had put in months ago about being off this weekend.

Along with having to deal with Jocelyn at home, he also had two very long shifts. The surgeries he had already been scheduled to work had been simple and not too interesting. If that had been the end of his day, it would have been bad enough. However, a bad case of Maklien flu was making its way around Atlanta, so every doctor was pulling extra duties to help the overwhelmed staff.

Signing off on his latest case and handing it to a nearby nurse, McCoy left the examination room where he had just administered his hundredth hypo of plophaxidine to a snot-nose kid who had cried the entire time. He’d be the first to admit that he wasn’t the best when it came to children, but the way that woman had talked to him like he was the idiot because her kid was being an infant about getting a hypo was ridiculous. Days like today were good for reminding why he chose to become a surgeon; an unconscious patient was always better than one that was awake.

He had learned something today, though. It’s a lot easier to administer a hypo to a patient if they’re not excepting it. Just go in, hypo them in the neck, and be done with it before they can complain.

At least his work day was almost over. Ten more minutes and he was off the clock. Of course, then he got to go home and deal with Jocelyn…

Maybe he could talk Rainsford into letting him work for a few more hours.

“Having fun?”

Ginning cheekily, Nox strolled up to him. Only slightly older than McCoy, Nox was already making a name for himself at Atlanta General as a nice guy and a good doctor. The nurses said it was because of his bedside manner, but McCoy thought it had less to do with his manner and more to do with his looks. Nox had broad shoulders and was taller than McCoy. He also had overly large blue eyes that had a good portion of the female medical staff fawning over him.

Personally, McCoy thought he looked like a bullfrog.

“Always,” McCoy said flatly.

Nox chuckled, slapped him on the shoulder, and handed him a case. “I’ve got something that might cheer you up, my friend.”

“What’s this?”

“A case that just came in,” Nox said. “Transporter accident.”

McCoy shivered. Damn, did he hate those things. It just wasn’t right, pulling someone apart one place, and then putting them back together in another. You wouldn’t catch him on one of those things. Not if had anything to say about it, anyway.

“You do realize I can’t put molecules back together,” he said.

Nox snorted. “You’re good, McCoy, but not that good. Lucky for them, you don’t have to be. The man had a couple of broken bones and some internal injuries. He’s in surgery now, and before you ask, Salen’s over it. The girl that was with him, well…”

Stepping onto the lift, McCoy looked over the case information. Considering that the entire thing was almost blank, aside from a name and a few other things, it didn’t take long.

“You forgot to fill some of this in, Nox,” McCoy said, trying to hand back to information, but Nox raised his hands.

“That’s why I’m giving it to you,” he said, stepping off the lift and heading down the hall. They stopped at one of the rooms that, for some reason, had hospital security posted at the door. “The girl is…upset.”

McCoy frowned. “How upset?”

“She is hostile, combative, and seems to be very well versed in sarcasm.” He grinned again. “We thought of you.”

“Thanks,” McCoy said.

Nox tapped in the security code to unlock the room. Why did McCoy have a bad feeling about this?

“Look, we just need to check over her injuries and get a medical history,” Nox said. “I only got a look at her before she started threatening bodily harm to myself and the nurses if we didn’t - in her words - tell her what the hell happened, but I’m pretty sure that her arm is fractured and she has a laceration at her hairline that needs to be taken care of. We thought with your unique…charm, you could get her to at least let us treat her.”

It was on the tip of McCoy’s tongue to ask if he was going to need backup, but Nox didn’t give him a chance.

“Good luck, McCoy,” Nox said and all but pushed him into the room.

Damn coward.

By the way Nox was acting and the fact that they had security posted at the door, McCoy expected to find some large, aggressive female waiting for him. He was probably still right about the aggressive part, but the girl he found was petite. Small, really. In fact McCoy was pretty sure that good gust of wind would knock her on her butt.

Her back was to him as she looked out the window, but her stance was clearly defensive. She cradled one arm and McCoy could imagine that she was frowning.

Nox was afraid of her? She was small, short and blond. Nox usually had girls like her eating out of his hand, but apparently this one had taste.

Good for her.

Clearing his throat, McCoy waited for her to turn around. She was young, probably a few years younger than himself, and she was definitely frowning. There was an angry slash of blood smeared into hair, but the laceration didn’t look as severe as Nox had made it sound. The arm, that was definitely fractured though. He could tell it from looking at it. Nothing he couldn’t fix, however.

“You've come to wave those Star Trek reject thingies at me, too?” she asked irritable. “Well that’s not going to happen unless someone tells me where in the hell my friends are. And, oh God, it better not be hell because I’m so kicking whoever's ass that did this if they are.”

McCoy blinked. He could tell this was going to be fun.

And what in the hell, to borrow a phrase from -- he paused in mid-thought as he glanced down at the forms for a name -- Buffy Summers, was Star Trek?



TBC

The End?

You have reached the end of "Twisting Reality" – so far. This story is incomplete and the last chapter was posted on 10 Jun 09.

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