Driving along the highway in the Bug, Emma Swan feels rightly betrayed, all over again. Phoenix is behind her, left in the dust of her wake, and she has the Bug. Four thousand dollars, too, but as if money and a stupid, fucking car will set Neal's treachery right.

She clutches the wheel, the engine relatively quiet, with only an occasional sound to make her worries. Despite not having driven in a while – see: eleven months, all of which she spent in prison – Emma is still okay at driving. However, dealing with everyone else on the road is putting her on edge as people swerve back and forth and take each other over randomly. She sweats, feeling more than a little warm, for more than just nerves. One guy who's obviously drunk as fuck is driving a truck a few hundred yards in front of her, yelling with his friends, throwing empty beer cans at the patrol car following them as they drift from lane to lane.

"Pull over! Now!" the patrol car speakers blare, echoing through the desert landscape. The truck abruptly stops, Emma jerking prematurely in fright, running the Bug off the road onto a rocky precipice and she screams, accidentally stepping on the accelerator instead of the brake, flying off the ledge.

In reality, Emma and the Bug would probably survive. The ledge is steep but small, with a dusty floor to catch them. The car would barely be dented.

However, the eighteen year old girl driving said car panics and squeezes her eyes shut, wishing to be anywhere but there. A spark inside her lights from her determination, drawing on any power that it can get – and it finds something. Oh, it finds something.

Emma feels her stomach roll and her palms heat up, before warm bands roll around her in both directions. The Bug disappears from around her and she falls to the ground, gasping as her body hits the ground. Sitting up and looking around, Emma is forcibly made aware that she is: a) not in her car, b) not outside of Phoenix, c) in some sort of science lab and finally, d) being stared at by a woman who can only be a young Winona Ryder, dressed in a red, long-sleeved dress.

"…how did I get here?" Emma starts with trepidation, before muttering "-and why is Winona Ryder here?"

"I'm sorry," Winona Ryder starts, sounding extremely apologetic. "I was just playing around with some of Frank's equations on transdimensional beaming and I ran them through the computer but I didn't realise they'd actually work, especially without an adjacent landing pad-"

Emma gets to her feet, interrupting, "Lady, I was about to die. Whatever you did, I mean…I'm alive, at least. What's your name?"

"Grayson," Winona Ryder comes over, offering her hand. "Amanda Grayson, Cadet at Starfleet Academy."

Starfleet Academy? Emma raises an eyebrow, wondering if she's actually in hospital in a coma, after crashing her car. It doesn't feel like she's dreaming – actually, it does feel like she's been on a plane or something, her stomach aching a little – though being comatose might be different from actually sleeping. If I am in a coma, I might as well have some fun. A thought occurs to her. So, if Winona Ryder's in front of me and is Amanda Grayson, that means – unless there's a different Winona Ryder who looks different or is like, a man or something – there isn't actually a real Winona Ryder.

"Winona. Winona Ryder." Emma takes Amanda's hand, shaking it, the other woman shaking enthusiastically.

"Where are you from, then? Do you need a lift home? Oh, but please don't go! I've got to show you off to Frank along with my new equations – he's going to be so annoyed I got it first!" Amanda pulls her through the lab, past a giant set of screens which make Emma's eyes go wide as she really takes in all the- tech? Is this future tech? My imagination is hella good. "I created the Universal Translator, you know. He's been trying to create something so impressive, the last few years. Transdimensional beaming isn't something that's encouraged at Starfleet because, I mean, it's been done before and they were never allowed to actually test it afterwards. Living beings don't survive the trip."

"Really?" Emma questions, eyes widening. "But I came through." Her stomach rolls aches harder and she stops, putting a hand to it. "Amanda, I don't feel well."

Amanda twists, eyes locking on her for a few brief moments before – in a feat of strength that surprises Emma – the curly-haired woman picks her up in a cradle that would have probably aroused Emma in any other situation. She's obviously suitably impressed, but still, her stomach is actually hurting now.

"Move out of the way!" she shouts as they exit the lab, two other red-dressed people in their way. Emma's eyes widen at the taller of the two, who has blue skin and eyes that are further apart, larger than usual and definitely tilted upwards. I could never think that up, she thinks in slight fear, wondering if her coma theory was actually right at all. Transdimensional beaming – I can guess on the first, but what's the second?

"Amanda, what's beaming?" Emma questions as the cadet runs her down a corridor, turning into a larger, packed hallway full of people in red, only very few in any other colour – grey being the only noticeable one.

"Move! I need to get this civilian to the medbay!" Amanda shouts and a way is made, the other cadets parting like the red sea. It is a red sea, Emma thinks with a touch of a giggle as she notices how they all have the same badge on their lapels, laughter turning into a pained moan. She jerks slightly at a burning, like acid. "How do you not know what beaming is? It was all over Federation News when they first beamed a melon to the other side of the lab three years ago."

Emma's eyes bug, "Teleportation?"

"Beaming is dematerialisation and then rematerialisation, but I suppose you could call it that." Amanda enters an elevator, putting Emma on her feet briefly as she shakes her arms out, one by one, using the other to hold a sagging Emma up as she holds her stomach. "The Federation is funding qualified research groups who are trying to advance beam technology as a main focus and Frank is part of that – we were in the Beam Tech Lab, just now and transdimensional beaming is another avenue of interest that is being shut down as more advancements are made. Obviously, it might gain popularity if you are really from another universe – are you?"

Emma hesitates to answer, but then the elevator is opening and Amanda sweeps her up into her arms and it triggers a bout of that burning sensation, deep inside. Crying out again, Emma forces herself not to cry, gripping her tank-top, twisting it in her hands as Amanda puts her down on a bed.

"What happened?" a doctor comes over, dressed in full whites. They hold a small device over Emma as Amanda shortly explains that there was accident with a transporter. The doctor shakes their head – Emma can't tell what gender they are, is gender even a thing in the future? – before calling over another doctor as the device beeps. "Human with ruptured small and large intestines, pierced stomach and inflamed appendix."

"Ma'am, what's your name?" the new doctor says, a woman with auburn hair tied back in a bun and green skin, before hooking something around her wrist that makes a machine beep when she clicks a button, the machine starting to display her vitals. I'm hallucinating. I'm in a coma. No one is actually green, except the Wicked Witch of the West.

"Winona Ryder," Amanda puts in.

"Age?"

"Eighteen," Emma gets out, panting before questioning, "Is this is a dream? I was in a car crash, I thought I was in a coma-"

"Win, you avoided the crash, remember?" Amanda interrupts, taking her hand, "I brought you here with the transporter. You told me you were in the middle of crashing-"

"Was it experimental?" the green doctor asks.

"Yes. She is potentially also from another universe."

The doctor makes a face, "Another- oh stars. No wonder part of her insides are missing."

"I don't have any money, or an ID," Emma says weakly, squeezing her eyes shut as the pain gets worse.

"Starfleet will take responsibility for you. Before I inject you with a sedative, can you tell me any potential allergies you might have and if you've had surgery recently?"

"I had- I had a baby," Emma admits, "a few months ago. But that's it, I'm not allergic."

"Thank-you, Miss Ryder," the green doctor says, before pressing something to her neck. Something jabs her and Emma jerks away from it, before feeling a deep pull of sleep, eyes fluttering shut. The last thing she thinks before falling unconscious is, they still think my name is Winona Ryder.

Post-surgery, Emma is stuck in a private room. No-one visits – which isn't a surprise, except Amanda seemed the type to take responsibility and apologise. It was her fault in the first place that Emma had lost parts of her internal organs, though it was kind of nice to know that this 'Starfleet' just paid her medical bills. Apparently, even before she was beamed to this universe, her appendix had been about to blow.

I only had four thousand, Emma feels relieved, thinking of American hospitals and how that money would have been gone in a snap, paying for her appendix to be removed, for the anaesthesia and for the recovery room. Here, at Starfleet Academy, she didn't have to worry any of that.

A knock comes from the door. "Come in," she looks up from her hospital PADD, a kind of computer tablet thing that lets her surf the web – which is kind of like the internet but way, way better. The door opens, admitting a steely-eyed man in a white and grey uniform, gold medals along his shoulders, along with a Chinese woman in grey and- "Amanda!"

Amanda gives a small smile, "Hey, Win."

Win – Winona, because that's my name, here, Emma smiles back. Amanda isn't in her red uniform anymore, dressed in a long brown skirt that pulls in around her waist, a dark pink and green flowery blouse and a headscarf that matches her scarf, but with a green trim. Her brown curls are all down, pulled out of her headscarf and she really, really does look like the real Winona Ryder. I'm Winona Ryder, now, Emma thinks with trepidation, but she's never giving her real name to anyone else – never going to let anyone get as close to her as Neal did. Never ever again.

"Miss Ryder, I am Admiral Archer. Two days ago, you were involved in an experimental transdimensional beam transport which caused you to dematerialise from your home universe and rematerialise in this one. The cadet involved has taken full responsibility for the matter, but unfortunately, she, her peers and supervising attendant have been unable to find a way to reverse the process and as this kind of experimental technology is otherwise prohibited to be studied outside of Starfleet Academy and other permissible organisations, I am sorry to inform you that until further notice, you are stranded in this universe."

Emma listens.

Emma understands.

"I'm not going back," she says quiet, thinking of what she has in her home universe. A car and four thousand dollars. Emma doesn't have anything else. I've got no parents, no house, no future. Just a shitty life and no friends or anyone waiting for me. Neal isn't hers anymore and she definitely doesn't want him, ever again, though something inside of her aches for company, for a warm body that knows her and…that baby isn't my baby. It never really was, or should have been. Emma Swan doesn't have anything there.

She repeats herself. "I'm not going back."

"No, you are not, Miss Ryder."

Swallowing, Emma nods. "Okay. I mean, what happens now?"

The woman speaks, stepping forwards, face amiable but distant, which wasn't a thing Emma knew existed. "My name is Lieutenant Cho. I'm going to be in charge of your transition into life here, in this universe. We'll discuss what type of world you hail from and find a suitable planet for you to make a home on, that appropriately matches your former place of origin."

"Planet?" Something clicks in her head and her mouth opens. "Oh my god, she was actually green. The doctor who helped me – she was an alien? There are aliens."

"Yes, Miss Ryder, there are aliens. You're familiar with the concept of space-travel, then?" Cho asks.

"Yeah, I mean, like, I've seen E.T. and Alien but I doubt they're like, in existence anymore. Humanity probably got some death-threats for Alien's kind of portrayal of extraterrestrials-" she is babbling. She is totally babbling, but to be fucking fair, aliens exist.

(In retrospect, eighteen year old Emma believes in things a lot more easily than twenty-eight year old Emma, who has gone through so much torment and shit, though it's easier to understand, when teenage Emma accepts that aliens exist, how she could produce the boy with the Heart of the Truest Believer.)

"Would you like a moment to process, Miss Ryder?" Cho interrupts with an amused voice. Emma glances at her with wide eyes. "Part of our discussions would be the wider workings of this universe – including the reach of the Federation."

"The Federation," Emma looks to Amanda, "You talked about that, before. What is it? Are they a government? What's Starfleet, then?"

Admiral Archer coughs, then speaks in a less stern voice than before, "The United Federation of Planets is an interstellar republic, made up of thousands of planets, each with their own governing body. Starfleet is an organisation specialising in deep-space exploration and diplomacy, introducing new planets to the Federation every year. We're also a peacekeeping armada – a space military, if you will."

"Right…" Emma swallows, taking this in. "And you just paid for my surgery. When do I have to pay it back, then? I'm not a part of Starfleet, I can't just work it off-"

"Starfleet does not expect you to pay for medical assistance out of your own pocket when it was our own actions that caused you harm," the Admiral straightens his shoulders, giving Emma a stern look. "And do not bring up your appendicitis, Miss Ryder, as it is a routine operation that would not be charged for, in any hospital in the Federation. At most, you'd have to pay for the cleaning of your personal effects."

"A nurse said they'd been disposed of," Emma bites her lip, self-consciously tugging the edge of her hospital gown – still the same, in any universe or time.

Admiral Archer begins to smile, speaking gently, "Then you have nothing to worry about, Miss Ryder. Starfleet's engineers will still work to find you a new way home, but until then we shall help you make a new life for yourself. You could even join Starfleet, if you wanted to!"

Emma gives a self-conscious smile, shaking her head, "I couldn't. I dropped out of high school and- and space. I don't know anything about space."

"Then learn. I'm sure Cadet Grayson would be happy to help you," Admiral Archer motions to Amanda, who nods quickly. "Lieutenant Cho will be giving you a complimentary PADD that you may use to contact others, should you have their comm number. My own personal line will be available to you at certain times in the week, if you have any questions about this universe."

"Thank-you, sir," Emma gets out of bed, pushing back her covers and stumbling over, hesitating before offering her hand. Admiral Archer shakes it firmly and Emma straightens her shoulders. He's taking me seriously. After nearly a year of prison guards treating her like shit and not letting her have any privacy or respecting her – and her entire life, with adults treating her with pity and distrust – it feels fulfilling, almost, to have this Admiral treating her like an actual person and offering what he can, in a bad situation.

"You're welcome," he says, before letting go of her hand and giving a small nod, leaving. When the door shuts, Amanda leaps over, arms wrapping around her neck and Emma wraps her arms around Amanda's waist, slightly confused.

"Sorry for not coming earlier – I wasn't allowed and I got suspended for bringing you here. Frank is horribly jealous that I managed it, but he's in charge of the project to reverse-engineer your appearance as he's the one that built the actual machine." She lets go of Emma, looking over to Lieutenant Cho. "This is my roommate. Our roommate. You're going to be staying with us, until you get your own place!"

"Oh, cool," Emma looks to Lieutenant Cho, who sticks out her hand. Emma grasps it. "Winona."

"Jodi. Have you got any stuff?" Jodi glances behind them, Emma hesitating. "Do you even have clothes?"

"No, not really. My stuff was kind of…tatty. The nurse said they were…disposed of. All I've got is me."

Jodi releases her hand, looking to Amanda, "I'll go get her a spare gym uniform." She looks back to Emma. "Do you know your measurements? Height, midsection, chest, leg and arm-length?"

"Uh…" Emma blinks, before telling her what few measurements she knew in inches. After she does, Jodi leaves, twisting a proper one hundred and eighty degrees. To Emma, she seems almost violently determined, a complete opposite to Amanda, who is practically melting into her side – except she's not, because Amanda, despite her petite frame, is a fucking rock of muscle. Emma then remembers that Amanda carried her most of the way to medical, half running.

Keep your gay under control, Emma, she warns herself, but she can feel her heartbeat rising, the thing with her vitals corresponding. Fidgeting, she tries to make conversation.

"So, where do you live? Is this even Earth? Are we on a space-station?"

"Oh no, this is Earth," Amanda hums, smiling encouragingly up at her. "San Francisco, even."

"San Francisco," Emma's been all over the country in foster-homes and she'd lived nearby, once and even came in every few weekends to go for 'family dinners'. Usually, it ended with them getting a drive-through at McDonalds, too much shouting and screaming from other little kids for their foster-mother to bear. "I've been here before."

Amanda looks slightly fascinated by her comment, "Really? Oh, what's your universe like, then? Did you never discover space-travel or are you further back in time?"

"Uh…last time I checked it was February, two thousand and two," Emma says and Amanda grips her hand tightly, looking slightly star struck.

"You're from the past. I didn't realise…Win, do you know the multiverse theory, if it's been created at all?"

"Multiverse, more than one universe, I can guess," Emma says in a hurt tone. Amanda cringes.

"Sorry, that's not what I meant, at all – the multiverse theory is that universes sit side by side. Some are bigger and some are smaller – some people mix them up with parallel dimensions."

"Why is it transdimensional then?" Emma questions, getting Amanda to pause for a second, thinking of an answer.

"Transdimensional beaming is what I was trying to do. If you think of universes as- as bubbles, sitting side by side and all around each other, then parallel dimensions are as if the bubbles had layers."

"Like onions," Emma puts her hand up, smiling at Amanda, questioning if she was right and if she knew the reference she was making. By Amanda's face, Emma guesses she hasn't seen Shrek.

"Well, yes. Actually, yes, perfect metaphor, Winona." Amanda smiles back at Emma, before continuing her explanation, the smile fading a little as she focuses on explaining. "Transdimensional beaming is reaching to another layer of the onion, from our own layer. The thing is, while parallel dimensions are packed in beside each other all, so very closely, there comes and end. We've had some accidental dimensional travel before, usually from spaceships being sucked through black holes and then coming out again a dozen years later, so we know that we're the edge to our onion."

"…so you reached out to another onion," Emma extrapolates.

"Exactly," Amanda says in a grim tone. "I shouldn't have been able to, especially with your story. Unless you're lying and you're another transdimensional beaming engineer or something similar-"

"I'm not," Emma starts.

"-then there was no way for you to have come through. The way I beamed you was to lock onto your signal and pull through the dimensional fabric of the worlds – and the Nothing, too. You had no protection and you've already suffered what little consequences that came of it."

Emma grimaces at the reminder that a part of her insides were lost. "Yeah, definitely."

"So, my team decided, based on what data we had, that there must have been a factor in your universe present that isn't in ours – like a radiation, or the way that humans in your universe have evolved."

"Do you have archives?" Emma questions, "Like, I could corroborate facts, to check. We could watch some cool movies, too. Have you ever seen Star Wars? It's a classic, like The Godfather and Breakfast Club."

"Oh! I've seen that last one," Amanda's eyes widen. "I was looking up movies to show Sarek how human friendship worked and I showed him both the original and the remake."

Emma makes a horrified face, "There was a remake?"

"Of course there was," Amanda shrugs. "Truth be told, it isn't as good, but it is a learning experience. It was released some few decades after humans joined the Federation and had begun to integrate other alien species' into their cultures and vice versa. Also, it is far more politically correct – or it was, for the era it was made in. We should watch it and after, I can point out things you shouldn't say."

"Does it have swearing in it? Because, like, if it's really a remake of The Breakfast Club, then it's got to have teenage shenanigans and some space alternative shit."

Amanda goes to reply, but Jodi comes back in, chucking a black bundle at Emma that she catches with one hand, the other still in Amanda's.

"Do you need privacy, to get changed?" the lieutenant questions, Emma becoming vaguely startled, eyes widening. "Was that a disrespectful question?"

"N-n-no," Emma shakes her head. "Sorry, uh- unexpected. Like, it's all just bodies and stuff. You'd think that with space stuff and- and people from other planets, humanity wouldn't really care anymore."

"Oh, we care," Amanda says in a wistful voice, as if she'd had this conversation before. "Humanoid Rights have evolved with the times, but the Right to Clothing is still intact. To be fair, however, Earth is a death-world. So many different climates."

"Death-world?" Emma questions, before Jodi reaches over and tugs Amanda away.

"Change," she orders, before leading a waving Amanda outside, shutting the door. Once alone, Emma takes a moment to compose herself. The door being shut and no-one being inside the room with her is…it's suffocating, almost. She grips the bundle before forcibly moving, lying it out on the bed. Happily, she finds that even with space-travel being a 'thing' and an unknown amount of time having passed – Amanda said 'era' – underwear is still underwear, even if it doesn't have elastic or straps. Instead, it's a tight material that moulds to her figure and stays in place wherever she moves it – no matter the angle.

"This is ridiculous," Emma shakes her head with a smile before tugging the strapless bra down to a comfortable position, patting it cheerfully as her chest stays in place. Then, she gets into the obscenely tight black shirt – long-sleeved and fucking tight, but insanely, like, insanely breathable – and the trousers, which, like the shirt, are most definitely sinful as hell. After, she pulls on the matching socks, which are socks…except, also shoes? Are they sleepy socks, though, Emma runs her hand down the bottom of one and it feels different on the bottom than it does the top.

A knock comes from the door, an intercom buzzing, "Winona, are you dressed? It's been a while."

"I'm good," Emma calls, the door opening after a moments pause. Amanda, upon seeing her, freezes before whipping around to Jodi, punching her on the shoulder. "What-"

"That is not the way you try – and fail – to steal more expensive gym equipment! She looks like she's about to go through the black ops gym!"

"Give her your scarf," Jodi replies, Amanda huffing and then, to Emma's surprise, taking off her headscarf and stomping over to Emma, wrapping it around her waist twice and knotting it over her belly-button until she's got a kind of…hoodie-around-her-waist effect, but the scarf looks like a skirt. Is it a skirt? Emma raises an eyebrow at Jodi, whose lip titches.

"You're going to get in trouble, one day," Amanda threatens her roommate, who smiles for the first time Emma's seen her – revealing pointed incisors that cause Emma to jerk back in fright.

"Holy shit-"

Amanda continues to speak over Emma's outburst. "They'll catch you."

"My record is spotless. They'll forgive a few stolen gym suits when I'm part of the USS Kelvin Bridge Crew."

"You're a little shit," Amanda determines, before spinning to Emma. "If anyone asks, it was a random ensign, alright?"

"Random ensign, got it," Emma nods. "Are we…are we leaving here, then?"

The apartment they stay in is built for four – however, Amanda uses the fourth room as her study, for the Universal Translator.

"I've got an entire company programming languages in for me and working out the kinks, now, but it was built in that room. I built it in that room. No-one – and Winona, I mean, no-one – is allowed in there, do you understand me?" Amanda said, serious as she'd been when rushing Emma to the medbay.

"I understand you, no going in that room, for real."

"For real," Amanda repeats, unfamiliar with the phrase but getting used to stuff like it, just like Emma was getting used to Starfleet terms.

Emma learns that the Universal Translator is just what it sounds like and that before Amanda created it, all the Federation planets had relied on the inhabitants of other Federation planets – and or colonies – to teach them their local languages. The amount of translator jobs dropped magnificently afterwards, which Emma is a little uncomfortable with the idea of, but she can't fault Amanda for creating her device – which allows people to converse in their own tongues, with a computer to translate for either side. With just how many people and languages there are out there in the universe, Emma doesn't feel like she has the right to judge. Amanda's company hires people all over the Universe, too and it will forever. Language changes and there's always more planets and languages.

Amanda herself is basically a trillionaire, though she doesn't use much of it. "It goes to charities," Jodi mentions a couple of seconds after Amanda oh-so-casually informs Emma that she can afford any and everything and the apartment's rent for the three of them is nothing.

Jodi herself is…kind of a badass. She's older than them both, at thirty-six – literally double Emma's age, but she only has ten years on Amanda – and she's been at Starfleet Academy the longest, her dual piloting and engineering course tracks taking a combined seven years, not including the education she went through beforehand. Jodi also has a kid called Hari, who is in university getting her medical degree. It's kind of overwhelming, how put together she is, until Emma does the maths in her head after hearing Hari's age. She would have been fifteen.

"I dropped out of high school, too," Jodi says, when she asks her, putting her big girl pants on so she can understand how Jodi got to where she is, with a kid riding her coattails. "I was twenty when I started taking classes so I could go study engineering. Hari started going to preschool and it was an opportunity I took advantage of. You have a fresh start here, Winona. Take advantage of it."

Before the month is out, Emma is enrolled in catch-up school, as well as 'Culture Appreciation Weekends' – which, translating Jodi-speak, is two-day girl nights, three weekends out of four and day-trips both around the world and to Mars. Fucking Mars.

A few weeks into her classes, she gets a call on her PADD from Admiral Archer, surprising her until he questions why she'd gotten a job, alongside her educational activities. A little confused, Emma replies slowly.

"I need something to do that isn't…learning. Waitressing is the same in every universe and I'm one of two people who knows how to work the 'antique' coffee machine. I mean, it wasn't that hard to figure out, but Casey apparently had no idea how to figure it out because it didn't have a computer hiding in its mechanics."

Admiral Archer nods his head, "I see. May I enquire as to why you prefer hard credits to electronic?"

This is starting to feel like an interrogation, Emma thinks, fiddling with her shirt-cuff. "I'm not really that much into getting hacked for my hard-earned cash. Why do you want to know?"

On the screen, Admiral Archer shrugs, before smiling at something out of the picture, leaning out and down and then reappearing with a beagle in his arms. Emma's eyes widen.

"You've got a dog?"

"His name is James John Archer Junior, though everyone calls him John. A funny joke among the other admirals is that he's my son." Archer gives a small grin, scratching him behind the ears and getting an excited lick for his efforts. Laughing a little, he faces the dog to the screen, waving. "John, say hello to Winona Ryder, future member of Starfleet."

Emma's eyes widen. "I haven't even decided yet."

"You'd make it great in Starfleet, Miss Ryder," Admiral Archer says, as if what he's saying is fact, his dog sniffing at the screen, close enough that Emma can see the texture of his nose on her PADD. "I'm not going to resign for a long time yet. I've only recently got promoted. However, before now I headed the U.S.S. Reichenbach. If I was still flying her rather than sitting behind a desk, maybe in, six or seven years, I would have welcomed you onto her, if you weren't on the Kelvin with Grayson and Cho – and obviously, if you graduated from Starfleet Academy with the appropriate qualifications."

"I- I don't know what to say, Admiral," Emma replies softly. She knows that maybe, she shouldn't trust Admiral Archer – not when he was spying on her, when he asked questions about choices she made, as if she would open up on why – but what he says hits home. He'd welcome me. Offering foster-kids homes, even when they've left the system and become bitter and dejected about ever finding a home in people, like Emma, is a weakness in her. She believes that hard work will get her where she wants, not anything that someone else did for her. But he's not offering that…

Admiral Archer said that if he could, he would, but only – only – if she passed Academy exams.

"Call me James, Winona. I'd like to offer you guidance, give you advice sometimes, if you'd have it. Think of me as a mentor."

Emma meets eyes with Archer across the connection, John the Beagle losing interest in her and twisting in the older man's lap, wanting for scratches that the Admiral gladly gives.

She makes a decision.

"Sure, James. Mentor me up and tell me how the fuck I get into Starfleet."

Three years after her arrival, the day Emma graduates with diplomas in Terran Engineering Mechanics and Galactic Standard Space Mechanics – in Stardate 2229, because it's a year that Emma will remember for more than one reason– Jodi and Frank take her out to drink with a visiting Amanda, who left her screaming green elf baby behind on Vulcan with Sarek.

"Spock's a baby and it scares Sarek, who probably thought that Vulcan babies came out of the womb as logical beings until he was born," Amanda rolls her eyes, finishing her second martini of the night. "I'm here for a month."

"A month!" Emma complains, wrapping her arms around her friend with a pout. "But we miss you so much!"

"We miss you," Jodi and Frank agree, clinking their glasses together a moment later.

Amanda grumbles but hugs Emma back, "I miss you all so much. Why the fuck did I move to Vulcan? Sarek's the ambassador, can't he ambassador on Earth? There's a damn embassy in this very city- and this night is not about me!" Amanda jerks back, eyes wide. "This night is about you, my most amazing friend from another universe!" Emma grins.

Drunk Amanda is fun Amanda.

"Well done, just- just fucking well done, Winona Jacqueline Ryder!" Amanda kisses her on the forehead, Emma bending down so she can do so, Amanda clutching her face. "Contact, I am fucking starved for touch, can I just lean on you?"

"Lean all you want," Emma laughs, hugging her friend tightly as she sighs, content in Emma's embrace. "I hope Sarek is this touchy-feely with you, or he'll be pretty jealous when you get back."

"Sarek is the most emotionally compromised Vulcan on all of Vulcan," Amanda mumbles, barely audible over the noise of the club. "I am an enabler, of course, but we only touch in our house. Our fucking house. This night was not meant for me to complain at."

"Oh, shut up, of course it is! We barely see you and literally, the only news I have is that I've been accepted into Starfleet already – Archer sent me the paperwork last week and I filed it the day before yesterday."

"Win!" Amanda shoots up, hitting Emma in the shoulder – which would have probably hurt more if Amanda hadn't passed on her gruelling workout routine and subsequently, her trainer, after she left for Vulcan two years beforehand for the birth of her son. "Why didn't you say beforehand?"

"That, what? I'm now the lone cadet instead of a civilian amongst three high-ranking Starfleet officers?" Emma questions rhetorically, before picking up her drink as Frank whoops. "Yeah, laugh it up. In three years, I'll be a Starfleet engineer who'll go on actual spaceships rather than fucking about in a lab, like some. At least Amanda had a reason, but you, Hallie…" she shakes her head, Frank scoffing.

"Research is always new and exciting – what am I going to do on a Starship? I'd throw myself out an airlock two days in."

"Not one?"

"No – the first day I'd be sorting out my Will, because when the hell else am I going to decide who gets my beloved car? I thought you would understand that, at least, Ryder, even you appreciate the Corvette and you're born the same century it was made." Frank looks at her, waiting for her agreement and Emma rolls her eyes, finishing her drink.

"I'm going up to the bar. Drinks on me. Same as last time?"

"No, get me one of those- those fire rums," Amanda pauses, "and a gin."

"Sure," Emma heads off to the bar as Jodi shrugs and Frank starts downing the rest of his beer. Reaching the bar, she smiles at the bartender and rattles off their orders, slipping onto a spare seat to wait. The alien on the stool beside her leaves, staggering away and then, predictably, one of the Starfleet reds that had been eyeing her part of the evening sits down.

"Good evening to you, fair maiden," he says, the words rolling off his tongue like he's made to say them, accent non-existent. For that reason only, Emma actually deigns to look at him and…he's not too bad, she supposes. Blonde hair, kind of average face, but there's a chin she likes and his eyes are baby blue. Internally groaning – because she's a sucker for baby blues, take a look at Neal – Emma twists to face him. He looks kind of surprised by that, but recovers quickly. "My name is George Kirk and if you'd let me, I'd like to buy you a drink."

"I've got Amanda Grayson at my table, don't really need the cash," Emma says in an apologetic tone. He blinks.

"Wait, what? When did Gramanda get back to Earth?"

"Gramanda?" Emma questions, slightly incredulous. "She hates nicknames."

"Of course she does, especially when they come from me," George scans the bar and Emma wonders if he was actually one of the cadets who were continually looking over at her table. "Aw, shit. Chodi's there."

"Chodi- that is just awful, for reasons I can't explain," Emma shakes her head, handing over Amanda's credit-chip to be swiped as the drinks are placed on a tray in front of her. When she looks back, George is gone – but she finds him again when she returns to her table, his head on Jodi's lap and his feet on Amanda's lap. She looks to Frank, the only one not interacting with George. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

He grabs his drink, nodding. "Basically, George and I were neighbours growing up and when I joined Starfleet, he made sure to go where I was going, when it was his time. He's sort of like you, except he's never invited."

"Oh, great," Emma sits back down by Amanda, who gleefully takes her gin and fire rum, tucking one of George's protruding feet onto Emma's lap as she sinks into her side. "Really great."

"I hear your name is Winona, Winona," George smiles cheerfully from Jodi's lap, waving. He looks like a puppy.

Emma likes puppies.

"Jodi, whilst greeting me, has informed me that you possess a motorbike."

"I do," Emma doesn't lose eye contact with him as she sips her drink. "What's it to you?"

He puts up his hands, showing two cuffs that Emma knows stop him from being able to start a vehicle or drive one. "I may have broken traffic regulations, in my attempts to exercise a prototype of my friends."

"Right," Emma drawls, "and what have I got to do with it?"

George pouts.

Shit-

"I like motorbikes. Give me a ride round town?"

Emma looks at the drinks she's consumed, licking her lips. Cutting a fine line… "It's right now, or never."

"Right now," George sits up, sliding his feet under the table and twisting, letting out a small yelp as Jodi grabs his ear, speaking to him and making him nod hurriedly. "Of course, of course. Never fear, Lieutenant."

Exiting the bar, Emma goes up to her bike, putting on her helmet and leather jacket before chucking George the two spares in the seat-box. He puts them on, fumbling a little with the helmet strap – I hope he doesn't fall off because he's drunk, that's like a point on my license for losing a passenger – before getting on behind her. His grip is a little funny, but it naturally corrects as she revs the engine and speeds down the road.

"Holy fucking hell, fucking-" he starts to swear, yelling in seemingly a dozen different languages. Thankfully, the helmets muffle his voice and Emma focuses on driving, hyper-aware of his arms wrapping around her waist, locking in place, stiff when she moves with the bike. Eventually, the shouting fades off and peaceful, it starts to get really…nice. There isn't a lot of traffic or people – relatively, for San Francisco, at least – and George is a warm weight behind her.

When they return to the bar, George reluctantly parts from her. "That was awesome."

"It was good," Emma agrees, before putting her things away in the seat-box. "What was all the shouting, at the start?"

"Swearing. I've never been that fast on a bike."

Emma pauses, "Wait, what? I was at cruising speed. I didn't get anywhere near the speed limit."

George runs a hand through his hair, Emma following the trail of his arm briefly – oh, this has gone too far already, abort, abort, get back in the bar and ditch this guy – before he shrugs.

"The prototype was really slow, every time. It hit top speed at twelve."

Emma stares at him.

"Twelve. As in twelve fucking miles an hour?" George nods, as if Emma hadn't expected him to be a fucking newbie. "Holy fuck, man, did you know how dangerous that was, just now? I thought you'd been on a bike before!"

"You said it wasn't going that fast, in truth-"

"You made me think you'd been on a bike before!"

"I have."

"No, you really, really haven't-"

"I think you'll find that I really, really have-"

(…and so began the relationship of George and Winona Kirk.)

Emma falls into an actaul romantic relationship with George a week later, kissing him full on the mouth to get him to shut up when he's visiting her at work before ordering him to get his ass out of the café. Grinning, he'd left and when her shift ended, she found a minor barrage of messages in the form of questions left for her on her PADD, George very clearly trying to ask her about what kind of date she prefers. The man having already visited her apartment to see both her and Jodi every day since their first meeting, Emma's already aware that he doesn't do subtle when he's digging for information.

Nope, George Kirk's only flaw is that he never says anything about himself. Maybe, other than his physical attributes and damned mannerisms – like running his hand through his hair, because who actually does that? and pouting, that goddamned pout – Emma's attracted to him because he doesn't have a history, or a past, like her. Only Frank has stories about him and sometimes, Emma and Frank spend all afternoon together rather than just lunch, talking about Frank and George's intricately tied-together childhood. Everything that Frank tells her is ammunition for Emma to startle George – something she enjoys and that George eventually says he likes about her, that she knows random things about him that he can barely remember – but even then, nothing she says prompts him to tell her anything.

He's like me, except not on purpose.

Emma keeps a lid on her past, on everything but her kid – and that's only because Amanda asks over a half-drunk group-chat a year later, remembering their first meeting with that kind of drunken Amanda panache. Emma gives them – Jodi, Frank, George, Amanda, Sarek and little toddler Spock, who stares at her through the screen with the same intensity as his father – the bare bones: that Neal knocked her up and left, that she gave the baby up for adoption and that she has no idea if it was a boy or a girl, or if she ever wants kids again.

At Starfleet Academy, when the new semester starts, she and George are a proper couple. George is already a year into his four-year Command Track where Emma is beginning her three-year Engineering Track and they make vague plans together to join the U.S.S. Kelvin as a team, the ship that Jodi will be flying with as Assistant in Chief of Engineering and Secondary Pilot in the autumn.

There is one small problem, however, that pops up during their first year – literally.

"I don't even know if I want kids, George," Emma says after telling him, after the first ultrasound, after the second ultrasound, after the third ultrasound and after George Samuel Kirk Junior is born. George kisses her forehead every time and when he settles Sam in her arms in the summertime of 2230, two minutes after he's entered the world, Emma cries and regrets ever giving her first kid away, cradling her second-born close.

"You'll be a good mother," James said, before Sam was born, after Starfleet Academy exams. "You will be a good mother, Winona."

Emma hadn't known whether or not to believe him. He offered no maybe or any conditions to gain her goal.

"How do you know?"

The Admiral had stared at her with a heady, focused gaze, hand latched to John the Beagle's neck. "Winona, frankly, if you can get through your first year as a cadet in Starfleet while pregnant, I think you can do anything."

Apparently, 'pregnant women are strong' is a thing that Admiral James John Archer believes in. Emma, sobbing at the sight of her son, thinks that's utter crap. I'll be a good mother because I want to be, because I'll work for it. In retrospect, when not as addled by anaesthesia, she thinks that basically, that was what James had said anyway.

"I can do anything."

George handily adds, "Except everyone in existence but me, until I die." Emma punches him in the shoulder, right where Amanda does, reminding them both that maybe, they should actually fucking call their friends who had no idea Emma was in labour at all.

Unfortunately, they get waylaid, however, it's to get married – might as well give two bits of good news at the same time.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Sam shouts as Hari straps him into his car-seat. "Mama! I want Mama!"

"We've done this before, but every time," Emma stares at her son morbidly, "we somehow forget that Sam has to get space shots."

George elbows her lightly, careful to avoid her protruding stomach. "Our little one is never going to get on a Starship if we keep repeating this."

"Yeah, right, he'll go into Starfleet, just like his parents," Emma snorts, before Hari finally gets him strapped in. "Finally."

Hari gives her a dark glare and a toothy baring of sharp teeth, reminding Emma of her mother. "Your heathen will cease crying when we drive or I will sedate him."

"You will cease informing Samuel of what we're actually sending him off with you for," George replies easily in an airy voice, "or I will snap your neck."

Hari rolls her eyes, acting more like a human teenager than whatever she actually is – which is a fully-fledged doctor at the lovely age of twenty-six. Twenty-seven. I can't remember and it's her fucking birthday tomorrow- twenty-eighth birthday! Older than me by three fucking years. Then, of course, Emma realises what George actually said, turns and punches him in the shoulder.

"No death threats. She's basically your sister, be nice."

"If she's my sister, then I will, of course, have to up the level of attack."

"Hari is doing us a favour, George-"

"Hari will drop him off to Frank as soon as he gets his, might I add, mandatory, vaccinations and Samuel is three, he doesn't want to come on a boring little expedition with us on the Kelvin to see a lightning storm. He's scared of lightning-"

(Emma will be scared of lightning too, soon, but for entirely different reasons to her sons.)

A dog licks at her ankle.

"Before you panic, remember that you gave me a keycard."

Opening her eyes, Emma glances down to where John the Beagle is on her bed, sitting up as James orders the lights to sixty percent. Reaching over to the dog, she scratches behind his ears before looking over to where the Starfleet Admiral stands, straight-backed and steely-eyed, with a touch of grey to his eyebrows and five o'clock shadow as he looks over Jim's cot, by the window.

"Winona."

"His James Tiberius Kirk, or Jim," Emma replies.

"I know."

Everyone knows, Emma wants to say, before Sam wriggles on the bed. John the Beagle pads over, climbing over her legs to settle down by Sam's chest, waking him a little. When he sees John, Sam wraps his arms around him, face smushing into his short fur, falling back asleep. Emma waits until he actually falls asleep, breaths slowing, before getting up and out of bed, joining James.

"George said to name him after my dad. Can't at all understand why I'd reply with your name, but there's that."

"Would you like to keep John with you, for a time?"

"I think it'd be Sam doing the keeping, but sure, Pop."

James glances her way and offers an arm. Emma gladly hugs him tightly, burrowing her head in his shirt. Oh.

"You're not wearing your uniform."

"I was on a date, if you'd believe. Unfortunately, I had to cut it short when I required myself to board a shuttle, after receiving an emergency transmission, saying that the U.S.S. Kelvin had been destroyed under the command of Captain George Kirk."

"He was captain for all of twelve fucking minutes," Emma swears into the flannel, not wanting any of her kids to hear it, for once in her life – not when it was about George.

A kiss is pressed to her long, blonde hair.

"George died Captain of the Kelvin and Captain, he'll remain. How many condolences have you received?"

"Too fucking many."

"And whose do you need?"

"I need George, Dad," Emma sobs. "I need him! I can't do this on my own!"

"You're not alone, Winona."

"I'm not fucking Winona Ryder, I can't do this-" Emma whisper-shouts, finally revealing the truth, only for James to interrupt her.

"No, you are most definitely not Winona Ryder. You are Winona Jacqueline Kirk and your children need you." He pushes her away from him, hands gripping her shoulders, their eyes locking as Emma stares at him, speechless. "What choice you had is now gone. You have a three year old and a newborn who both require their mother to look after them. You have a support-network of people who will gladly help should you need help."

"I'm not Winona Ryder," Emma repeats. A silence falls and to Emma, it's full of tension. I'm not Winona Ryder, I'm…James' words come back to her. I'm Winona Kirk. "Emma Swan," she says out loud, a furrow forming between James' eyebrows. "I'm Winona Kirk, but I'm Emma, too. Winona Ryder was an actress, a celebrity from the twentieth and twenty-first century, in my universe. I took her name because I knew she wasn't here, in this one. If this world was a movie, Amanda is played by the real Winona Ryder."

Her heart thuds in her chest and she thinks, shit, I just told him. What's he going to do?

For a long moment, James does nothing.

Then, he presses another kiss to her hair. "Winona Ryder doesn't exist, here, because she's Winona Kirk. I'll be back for John next week."

Emma struggles, desperately. Sam is three and he doesn't understand death as a concept, let alone the death of his father. Jim is just a baby and he doesn't know George. He doesn't know his father's voice or his father's laugh, or his father's stupid blue eyes-

She catches herself on that one. Jim will know what George's eyes look like and so will Sam, because they'll stare at them in the mirror and know exactly what shade.

In George's will, they inherit the farmhouse he grew up on. Emma at first fears it, but then she jumps at the chance to leave their apartment, where they'd lived less than a five minute walk from Starfleet Academy ever since Sam was born. They, they, they. She's just she now, unless she says they and means herself, Sam and Jim, or they as in herself, Amanda, Jodi and Frank.

Frank.

He goes with her to Iowa, helps her move the kids and unpack their new furniture. When she's too exhausted to carry on, he looks after her boys and the day before he has to go back to work, they get drunk together and Frank admits he's loved her longer than George ever did. Emma pushes him away and tells him to go back to his fucking research labs. He goes – and then he returns, resigning his commission as she did and stubbornly, oh, stubbornly, over three years – why is it always three? – he works his way into her life so well that the one month he takes to go off-planet, to visit Amanda, Emma loses control of her own life, Sam running amuck and Jim crawling into places that half give her heart-attacks.

I can't do this without him, she realises in horror. No, no I was supposed to do this on my own-

"Winona, she cracked it," is the first thing he says when he returns. "Amanda cracked it."

At first, Emma doesn't know what he means. Cracked it? Cracked what? Then she sees him, looking so happy and in his element – so Frank that Emma wonders what he gave up when he joined her here, in Iowa, thing he did for love – shaking from stimulant withdrawal and the truck behind him in the driveway has something in the back that he immediately goes out to reassemble right there, in the driveway.

Emma came from another universe because of the mad tinkering of a bored, genius linguist engineer. Her name was Amanda Grayson and Amanda gave her a new life, a home and most importantly, people – nearly all of them being engineers. They made her an engineer. So, engineer that she is, Emma Winona Kirk can recognise a damn transporter.

"Transdimensional beaming."

"I needed to show you! She's been calculating it all in her spare time and then she just saw something she wrote last year that Spock had tried to figure out and his calculations made sense up until this one number, which is where he stopped. The thing was though, Spock couldn't read Amanda's writing and he made an error in interpreting earlier on, but anyway," Frank hauls the last piece of the transporter to where it could go, should go, except Emma's not quite sure it's a good idea to put a transporter pad in front of her doorstep. "Amanda had a breakthrough and she finished it before calling me to check it over, because I'm still her supervisor on this, despite not being on active duty – and it's all right, Win, it's perfect and we can go to your universe!"

Emma listens.

Emma understands.

Emma hears we and knows that Frank thinks he would go with her, that if she decided to go back to her original universe with her sons, that she would take him with her – that she loves him, or some other bullshit like because he's her friend. No. No, this is not happening.

Frank fires up the transporter after plugging it into her mains, before turning to her with a wide grin on his face, that engineering glory that Emma hates herself for. Hearing the loud whine and hum of machinery, Sam and Jim come out from the house, six and three respectively.

"Woah! What's that?" Jim asks, in awe of the technology on their driveway. Emma puts a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place as her lips set in a long line.

"The road to your mom's happiness, boys!" Frank grins, obviously seeing whatever he wants to see, because in no way did Emma have a pleased expression on her face. "Come on, get on, we'll just press a few buttons and be off." He turns to the controls, beginning start-up protocols and Emma looks to her sons.

"Stay," she orders and Sam nods cautiously, Jim frowning before she takes Sam's hand, placing it where her own had been. "Stay," she repeats, before leaving the front porch, going down the steps to the transporter, wary of the transporter pad, walking around it. "Frank, you need to stop. They don't know and I don't ever want them to know."

"What?" Frank pauses, glancing up. "Who doesn't know what?"

"Sam and Jim," Emma whispers with a glare. "Do you think I want them to know this shit? They live in the twenty-third century, not the twenty-first and I want them to stay here, where there's a Starfleet, where there's a United Federation of Planets and an entire universe for them to explore-"

"We've got the knowledge to build working space-ships, Win," Frank interrupts and it's not like it was with George, it really, truly isn't. "Your universe is a blank slate, just like this one was for you! Over there, all this hasn't happened yet and George never died-"

At that, Emma completely stops listening. There's a thin line between genius and fucking madness, she thinks, backing away from Frank slowly, who keeps babbling on – but she hears the hum get louder and with a start, she realises she's already stepped on the transporter pad. Golden light swirls around her and she already feels a pull, even as their solar panels spark and explode, fire taking over the transporter board and-

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth and her arm and stomach ache. What happened? Emma wonders, thoughts drifting before she recalls Jim, Sam and Frank. The heart-monitor races and she opens her eyes, the light so very bright.

"Lights, forty percent," she croaks, but nothing happens and she sits up, stomach aching the unfamiliar setting confusing her for a long few seconds before someone comes over – a nurse, who pushes Emma's shoulders back to her bed.

"You need to stay still, Miss Swan," the woman says, voice sharp. "You had your appendix taken out, following a car-crash. Your arm has stitches. Now, rest properly and don't make me come in here again."

Emma stares at the woman in open confusion as she walks away without even a by-your-leave. She looks around the hospital, thinking Miss Swan and car-crash. The hospital isn't gleaming or sterile, the floor tiles cracked and white with coloured flecks. Meant to trick you into thinking it's clean. Her stomach rolls slightly at the thought, because if this was a hospital, then-

She moves, stomach twinging. Emma bites down on her lip and shuts her eyes, thinking of her sons, wondering if they were okay, if Frank had done the responsible thing and called the authorities.

I'm in my original universe, she thinks, waiting for Amanda to beam her back with the same, old dodgy equation that brought her there in the first place.

Emma waits

I'll be home soon.

Emma waits.

I'll see Sam and Jim and we'll figure things out on our own, or with Amanda.

Emma waits.

We could move to New Vulcan. Spock could be a playmate.

Emma waits.

Amanda, fucking hurry up.

Emma waits.