Title: Equilibration
Disclaimer: The characters of Willow Rosenberg and Tara Maclay,or the reasonable facsimiles that I employ in this story, are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. The setting for the story is within the universe of Star Trek, created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount Pictures, Inc. No infringement of copyright is intended. The other characters are the creation of either myself or several colleagues who don't care what I do with them. In any case, I'm a firm believer in Kasden's Law ("If you steal from one source, it's plagiarism; if you steal from ten sources, it's research.")
Pairing: W/T (not precisely the Willow and Tara that we all know and love -- but close enough for government work.)
Spoilers: None (as this does not take place in the Buffyverse at all, we're all safe as far as that goes. As to Trek, this takes place mid- Deep Space Nine (call it third or fourth season).
Rating: PG-13.
Summary (The Story So Far): A young 23rd-century Starfleet officer named Willow Rosenberg is lost to a temporal anomaly. Ninety years later, a young lieutenant named Tara Maclay assumes her new post as assistant counselor aboard the starship Hannibal. Now that Willow has been recovered, Tara takes an interest in this lost girl...
Warning: this story takes a while to get really going, so please be patient. For you non-Trekkers out there, I do ask that you give this story a chance. No, it does not involve anybody from TOS, TNG, DS9, Voyager or Enterprise, it just takes place in the Trek universe. These characters have (I think) interesting stories of their own; I tend to drop tantalizing hints of the captain's past from time to time.
Feedback: Email me at
captmurdock@mac.com.
Distribution: For God's sake, don't put this on a Trek board without asking me first! I'll lose all my street cred. :-)
******
Where am I? And how did I get here?Willow had been trying to answer these questions for the longest time, it seemed, and she had been getting nowhere. The fact that she could not see, hear or feel rather impeded her quest for knowledge.
Okay, let's go over this again…last thing I remember is being in the shuttlepod, in the middle of that ion storm, then the console explodes in my face…ow. Then I'm here in the land of Nothing doing nothing with nothing to do it with…
Oh my God…am I dead?
Harsh.
Can't say much for this whole 'afterlife' thing. I mean, I know that they explained all those 'near-death' experiences, all that 'go towards the light' stuff, as neurotransmitter dysfunction back around the turn of the millennium, but at least with the light, I'd be able to look around.
Wait wait wait…if I'm thinking all this stuff, I can't be dead, right? I mean, either I would know if I was dead, right, or I wouldn't be aware of being thinking all this stuff, and I'm not sure if I even made sense with that last – okay! Right there! You don't babble like that if you're dead! That, I'm pretty damn sure of!
All right. I'm alive. Yea me.
But where am I? Oh, God, now we're back to that. I still can't see anything—
Oh, God. They've buried me alive! No! Buffy was always telling me her worst fear was to be buried alive, she told me over and over again and now it's me, they've buried me ALIVE!All at once, in the midst of her terror, a calming presence seemed to insinuate itself into her mind, banishing her fear and pressing her down into peace and stillness.
Wow. Okay, better now. Hey, I think I'm getting feeling back…ow, not completely good. But I think I'm lying in bed somewhere. Doesn't have that closed-in, coffin feeling either—What's that?She seemed to hear words, now, but they were muffled and distorted. They, too, had a calming effect on…
Willow.She heard that, and seized on it.
My name, she thought,
that's my name, someone's calling my name! Maybe it's Buffy. She's probably sitting right there, waiting for me to wake up. Xander, too. So, I guess I better wake up.With that, the instructions on how to open her eyes suddenly became available, and Willow Rosenberg opened her eyes to greet the twenty-fourth century.
***********
Willow couldn't focus her eyes, and the figure in front of her was somewhat blurred. However, she could discern that this was not Buffy Summers; while the figure was definitely human and female, she was a bit too broad to be her slim, athletic friend. The hair was also not the right shade blonde. The uniform was strange, too: a black jumpsuit with blue shoulderlines, with a silver and gold badge just over the left breast.
Willow could just make out the woman's eyes, and while she did not have Buffy's hazel orbs, her eyes were a beautiful shade of blue. She saw the eyes widen with the realization that Willow had woken up. Then the young woman reached up and tapped the badge on her chest, which responded with an electronic chirp.
"M-Maclay to Dr. Govarr." A brief pause, then she continued. "Willow—Lt. Rosenberg is awake." She tapped the badge again and stepped closer to Willow. "How do you feel?"
It the first time Willow had legitimately thought about it. The act of speaking forced her to realize just how non-okay she was. "Head feels big," she finally managed.
The woman smiled. She had a very nice smile; Willow liked the way that one side of her mouth, then the other, would quirk upwards; very expressive. That way, if you only felt like half-smiling… "Well, it still looks head-sized," she said.
"Oh…good. 'Cause that would make, y'know, wearing pullovers and going through doors kinda awkward." The effort it took for that sentence temporarily robbed her of energy.
To her credit, the woman didn't immediately do a take and look at Willow like she was a freak. "I get that. I mean, I majored in Awkward."
Someone approached Willow from the other side of the bed. A rather large someone, covered with dark fur, with deep-set eyes over a large snout. Although Willow had occasionally seen Tellarites, she couldn't recall ever seeing one up close. The effect of this one suddenly hovering over her was startling.
The woman must have picked up Willow's surprise and discomfort, because she leaned in and clasped Willow's hand. "It's all right, Willow, he's a doctor."
The Tellarite positively bristled at this statement. "
A doctor? I'm
the doctor, at least around these parts. Govarr, chief medical officer," he stated. Abruptly, Dr. Govarr softened his tone. "Are you in any discomfort?"
Willow had had time to think about this. "My face – it kinda aches."
"I had to remove some metal and plastic fragments of some sort, from your shuttlepod, no doubt. There were no problems; all the damage was cosmetic, and I repaired that so there will be no scar tissue."
"Okay. Uh, so why is so hard from me to move?"
"You suffered a moderate neural shock. The effects will pass."
"Is that why my vision's blurry?"
"Your visual acuity will return in time?"
"Where am I?"
With a sigh, Govarr answered. "You're in sickbay, asking incessant questions of your doctor." He picked up a small cylinder from a side table and inserted a smaller transparent tube filled with amber fluid. Willow watched nervously as Govarr maneuvered the cylinder and pressed one end to the side of her neck. A sharp hissing sound came from the cylinder, one that Willow recognized as…
"A hypospray." Whatever the medication was, she started feeling better almost immediately. She looked over at the woman who stood over her, radiating concern. "You must be my nurse," Willow offered.
To her surprise, the blonde woman blushed and grinned (even as Govarr made a rumble of what Willow interpreted to be disgust). "Oh, n-no, I-I'm not a nurse. Um, L-Lieutenant Tara Maclay. I-I'm a counselor."
"Councilor?" Willow replied, confused. "This ship has some sort of council?"
Tara looked confused for a second, then understood the homonymic confusion. "No, this ship isn't run by a council. Actually—"
Govarr snorted in derision, almost making them both jump. "The way this ship operates, it should be run by committee."
"Now, now, Doctor," a new voice came into play, "you know that's just an ugly rumor going around here." The speaker was a tall, curly-headed man with a goatee, wearing the same type of uniform as Tara and Govarr, except the shoulder areas were cranberry red instead of blue. He strode over to the bed, an open, pleasant expression on his face.
Behind him was another human, older in appearance, wearing a variation of the uniform the other three wore: a blue suede-like open jacket with leather shoulder patches, over a gray undertunic. His grizzled countenance was one of a man who been everywhere, done everything, and had as good a time as possible in the process. He now added to the first man's remark, "Well, we would have had this rumor squashed, but we needed a show of hands first!"
The other human – whom, Willow could see now that the medication was taking effect, had more insignia than either Govarr or the elderly man – favored him with a mildly scandalized glance, then turned back to Willow. "I'm Captain Ulysses Murdock. You must be Willow Rosenberg."
"I hope so," Willow replied. "I mean, I don't know who I would be if I wasn't me, unless I get to choose from a menu, like, choosing a new outfit, but considering my taste in that area, maybe I better stick with being myself."
"Solid plan, Lieutenant," Murdock replied, bemused. "This is our ship's counselor – well, chief counselor, Doctor Charles Devereux."
Willow nodded to the older gentleman, but was focusing on the badges on all their chests. It was definitely the Starfleet delta, the "arrowhead" symbol, originally unique to the
U.S.S. Enterprise, which the fleet had adopted in place of individual ship emblems a few years back. So, if they all were wearing it…"So this is a Starfleet vessel, then," she said, more a statement than a question.
"That's right," Captain Murdock confirmed. "We rescued you from the shuttlepod that you became trapped in…" He trailed off, unsure as how to continue.
Willow looked around the room, at the equipment and at her visitors. "Y'know, unless they've changed the uniforms and I just didn't get the memo, those are not Starfleet uniforms. Plus, I've been in sickbays before, and I've never seen one that looked anything like this, not even on a starbase."
Govarr rumbled. "I should say you haven't. This is—"
"M-Maybe we should give Wi—Lt. Rosenberg a chance to rest bef-before we go any further," Tara cut in, earning a glare from Govarr and an inquisitive glance from the captain.
Dr. Devereux, however, stepped in with admirable timing. "I think Lt. Maclay may have a point, sir. This might not be the appropriate time to, uh, bring Lt. Rosenberg here up to speed."
"Perhaps, Doctor," Murdock replied, turning towards the counselor, "but when do you think would be an appropriate time? A week from now? A month? A—"
"Excuse me!" Willow cut in, irritated beyond politeness. "Y'know, if it's true you guys rescued me, and I'm not saying it isn't, then I'm grateful for you saving my life. But I would really appreciate it if you didn't talk about me like I wasn't here!"
"Willow!" Tara warned. Willow gave her a sharp look, startled at this stranger addressing her so familiarly. Her urge to tell Tara to shut her biscuit-trap, however, quietly faded when she saw the genuine concern in the young woman's eyes.
Murdock, too, felt his annoyance at Rosenberg's outburst abating, and kept a lid on his indignation.
She has, he reflected,
been through a lot, and is going to go through a lot more. Give her some slack, old boy. He stepped forward slowly, partly raising a hand to politely indicate to Tara to back away. The look she gave him was not entirely free of the hurt she felt at being cavalierly dismissed, but he was not inclined to address it at that moment. She moved off to stand next to Dr. Devereux, leaving Murdock standing next to Willow.
"Lieutenant," he said, taking refuge in formality. "There is no easy way to apprise you of your…situation," he began heavily. "Uh, you were an officer on the
Saladin-class starship
Hannibal, correct? Registry number NCC-512, right?"
"Were"? Willow thought. Oh, this can't be good. "Um, yessir."
Murdock took a deep breath and plunged in. "Well, by an amazing coincidence, you now happen to be on the
Nebula-class starship
Hannibal. Registry NCC-71669."
Willow's brain took a second to run through some comfortable alternative scenarios: bad dream, coma, wacky alternative reality, telepathically-induced hallucination, Four Years' War flashback. None of these held water for more than a tenth of a second, particularly the last, as she was all of two month's old when the Four Years' War ended at the Battle of Axanar. She looked at Murdock, then Devereux, then Govarr (rather quickly) and finally Tara, who looked back with even more sympathy than the rest. Her brain trying to digest this information piece by piece, she repeated, "En-See-See-Seven-One-Six—" and got stuck there.
"Six-Nine," Murdock finished gently.
"That's a lotta numbers," she concluded lamely.
***********
After giving Willow the details of her displacement in time, Murdock and the others were ushered out of sickbay by Dr. Govarr, who rumbled about his patient getting too much stress. Captain Murdock has asked Willow to come see him as soon as she was discharged, which Govarr said would probably be in the next twenty-four-to-thirty-six hours.
Over the next day and a half, Willow's recovery proceeded at an encouraging pace. Dr. Govarr, contrary to his self-styled bellicose image, proved to be rather congenial, at least by Tellarite standards. He was careful not to let Willow push herself too hard, especially when taking a brief walk with the assistance of the doctor and a nurse, who was of a race called Bajorans (which Willow had never heard of). He seemed genuinely pleased with her progress, although (as Willow's cynical nature attested) that could have been professional pride at his skill as a physician.
She did have one complaint: the food that Dr. Govarr let her eat, which edible, was rather bland. "Ninety years of progress, you would think that they could make sickbay food taste better," she muttered to Govarr.
The doctor shook his shaggy head. "That is intentional. If the food here was as good as anywhere else on this ship, no one would have incentive to leave!"
Willow conceded that point.
Two days and six hours after regaining consciousness, Willow was pronounced fit to be discharged by Dr. Govarr. She delayed meeting with Captain Murdock, however, until her uniform (or a reasonable duplicate thereof) was returned to her.
I'm not returning to my own time in my skivvies, she promised herself.
She also wanted an electronic clipboard, of the sort in use aboard the
Hannibal – her
Hannibal – but they had apparently been obsolete for decades. One of the medical technicians had provided her with a PADD ("Personal Access Display Device," one of those cutesy acronyms that Willow always loathed). Although one did have the option of using a manual stylus to input data, Willow soon disdained such, having far too much fun discovering how far tactile algorhythms had progressed in ninety years.
"This is so cool!" she cried at one point, discovering how the PADD's built-in transceiver array could be used to access the ship's computer remotely.
"I'm glad she's having fun," Govarr muttered in his office, after listening to this girl coo over the mundane convenience for over an hour. "I'm going insane."
Finished with her notes, she found out how to use the intercom (she didn't have a commbadge, which she regretted as she thought those were the neatest innovation since artificial gravity) and informed the captain that she would see him at his convenience. He asked her to meet him in his ready room in fifteen minutes.
Most of that fifteen minutes Willow took up figuring out what a "ready room" was. She eventually got the bright idea of using her PADD to access the computer for an intraship directory. Reading the description of the ready room, Willow approved of the idea.
I wonder if I came up with that…or if I will come up with that…or will have to came up with—God, time travel and English grammer are totally unmixy!Taking the nearest turbolift of Deck 1, Willow stepped off and had to bite her lip to keep her jaw from hitting the deck. The bridge was easily half again the size she was accustomed to. There were more positions, some of which she could only give a educated guess at.
Mission Ops? She had to school herself not to look around too much. Otherwise, it would that much more she would have to keep to herself when she went back.
Kind of a shame, Willow thought,
'cause it seems like a really interesting ship. I've met some really great people… Intriguingly, an image of Tara flashed through her mind, unbidden.
Wish I could stay…but I got people who would miss me.A tall, dusky human woman stood up from her seat and sauntered over to Willow. "You must be Lt. Rosenberg," she said pleasantly, though with enough force that Willow recognized that she was being engaged in conversation whether she cared to be or not. Given that the woman was a superior officer – three insignia on the collar of her undertunic indicating she was a commander – Willow was obliged to answer her.
"Yes, sir. Uh, ma'm. Commander!" She took the woman's outstretched hand and shook it, trying not to dislodge the other's shoulder in her nervousness. "I never know which one to use on a female superior officer," she added.
The woman smiled patiently. "I'm Commander Faraday, executive officer. Don't feel bad, Lieutenant. I sometimes get confused myself. I think Captain Murdock calls me 'Number One' because 'Commander' is too long, he doesn’t like using 'Mister' for female subordinates, and he thinks 'Ms.' isn't formal enough." She released Willow's hand and raised an eyebrow. "Have you come to the bridge for anything specific? Anything I can help you with?" She didn't seem, to Willow, to be very sarcastic, but not overly solicitous.
"Oh, no, actually, I came to see Captain Murdock, that is, in his ready room, which is supposed to be right here," she pointed over to the exit aft of the bridge.
"That's where it is," Faraday agreed. "Go on in. The captain's expecting you." She lowered her voice, took a half-step closer to Willow. "You'll do fine."
Willow smiled. "It was nice meeting you, Commander." Before she turned to approach the ready room doors, she thought she saw a flash of confusion and sadness on Faraday's face.
There was a pad of buttons next to the doors. One of them was obviously the door chime. Pressing it, Willow heard a call of "It's open!" which apparently the doors were accustomed to, because they parted immediately.
Willow stepped into a room about four meters square. The captain set behind a desk of burnished wood, working on a PADD and looking at a deskscreen, the same kind she had seen in Doctor Govarr's office. The office (ready room, she reminded herself) was not as austere as she thought it was going to be. Memorabilia from many places and periods reposed on shelves and on the desk.
"C'mon in," Murdock said pleasantly. "'Mind the dancing girls, come up the usual way.' I'm finishing off some administrative trivia, so just have a seat for a minute and I'll be right with you." He indicated an alcove in the wall to starboard. "You can get coffee, or whatever you like, from the replicator."
"No, thank you, sir." She paused on her way to the chair. "Uh, sir, is it okay if I look around?" After he waved his acquiescence, she looked at some of the artifacts. Most had apparently come from Earth, by her limited judgment spanning the nineteenth through twenty-second centuries. Some of it was what her mother would call "kitsch," although Willow never entirely understood what that term meant.
One item that intrigued her was a disk of some black material, sealed in a polymer coating, with a five-centimeter hole in the center, around which a circular label had been impressed. The label had a drawing of a green apple. There was writing on the label as well, the most prominent words being:
THE BEATLES
HEY, JUDE
"Hey, that's funny. They misspelled 'beetles' on this," Willow said.
"I get that a lot," Murdock replied with a smile. With a sigh, he put the PADD down and shut the deskscreen off. "Hoo boy. All those department heads and a first officer and still this much crapola filters its way up to me. Why don't we get started, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir." As she crossed over to the chair, her eye was caught by the painting of the alien castle and landscape. "Is that Rigel VII?" she asked, pointing to the painting and sitting down.
Murdock's expression somehow managed to combine wistfulness, amusement and a strange reluctance. "Ah, no. That's, uh, an obscure planet. Catalog designation…Holberg 917G. I had family there." Turning towards her and leaning forward, he adroitly changed the subject to that of their meeting. "Now, we have to discuss your…disposition. Doctor Govarr tells me you've made a full recovery, so there's no reason not to get down to brass tacks."
"I agree, sir," Willow replied, eager in spite of the fact that she wasn't sure what tacks, brass or otherwise, had to do with anything. "See, I've made some notes," indicated her PADD, "about how to send me back."
In a rare moment, one which Devereux would have cheekily proclaimed a historic occasion, Murdock was completely taken aback. "Send you…back?"
"Yessir, to 2280. I'm compiled everything I can remember on the Slingshot Effect, as the best option for traveling backwards in time. I mean, I know the anomaly that brought me here has collapsed, and we can't waste time – sorry, no pun intended – looking for another one like it, I mean, what are the odds, but I think what we can do is probably program a small ship, you've got these things called runabouts, they might be able to do the job, and then once back in the twenty-third century, once I'm safely off, it can self-destruct or something, whatever you feel is the best way to keep the timeline from being totally blown off track, I'm sure you don't want that, I tried to read some of the stuff regarding time travel, but the computer said that all temporal research was classified under command-level clearance, and I don't have that yet, but if we—"
"Hold it!" Murdock cried, feeling on the verge of neural overload.
My God, did this child breathe even once during that soliloquy? "Now, Lieutenant, I appreciate your enthusiasm, and frankly, I'm impressed with your initiative in compiling and planning like this, but…" Try as he might, he couldn't continue for a few moments.
"Captain, what is it you're trying to tell me?"
Somewhere in him he found the fortitude to look her in the eye without blinking. "I'm afraid you've been laboring under a misconception, Willow. It's not a question of being able, theoretically, to send you back to your own—I mean, back where you came from.
"The problem is, morally, we're not allowed to send you back."
TBC.
______________________
"I love you all. I love you more than life itself. You're all f***ing mad." -- Ozzy as "The Dad," THE OSBOURNES.
by TareBearRS » Wed Sep 04, 2002 10:14 am 
I'll wait and honestly try to be patient, heh.
she's not going to be a happy camper. 
