The Caretakers
By Mistress V
Rating: T
As I said in the header, this is a companion piece to the Fanfic Trial currently going on within the HH community. The muse wouldn't let it go, so I wrote. It is NOT anything like what I usually do, community wise. There are elements of "ST:DS9" ("Trials and Tribble-ations") and a touch of "Law and Order" (as in Jack McCoy's relationship with the female lead here). If you don't know what I am talking about, check out the trial piece in the HH section, it will help!
This actually grew out of a couple of reviews and chapters I penned for the HH trial. So, if you are new to this, you might not make sense of what happens---please, no flames. It is 100% send-up/parody and meant to be fun. The V persona is based on me (My authoress name is Mistress V) and she is very much a Vash-type character (from ST:TNG). Not an intentional Mary Sue, but I thought who better to deal with this surprise visitor than a fan?
Anyway, enjoy. Legalese: Copyright Mistress V, 2009. "Star Trek," "Hogan's Heroes," and "Law and Order" belong to their respective owners and no infringement is intended. I borrow from their toy box, but what I create is mine. Some notes follow at the end, for clarification.
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Court was finally done for the day. V was exceptionally glad as she bade Miss Marple good-bye until Sunday brunch, she was exhausted and there was a ton of work beckoning to her before then. What HAD possessed her to spend the prior night with Jack? It was all well and good to laugh it off as scratching an itch, but the deeper connection they once had was still strong. And that bothered her. Not to mention her budding relationship with Mike that was unraveling like a cat-tortured piece of knitting, even before it began.
She scanned her cell phone messages, frowning as one number continually cropped up. Well, she'd been in the gallery---no phone calls allowed. V hit the replay button and listened to the messages. Her mouth fell open and she ran down the courthouse steps, oblivious to the pouring rain.
TAXI!"
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The bottom dropped out of V's stomach when the elevator doors opened. Workmen were scurrying in and out of her apartment. A pile of rain soaked detritus sat on her hardwood floor. Her glass coffee table was cracked in two, but apart from that, the rest of the room looked all right except for mud and water spots. Everything was swathed in heavy plastic.
"V!" a familiar voice called.
"Marcus, what happened?" She was very glad to see the building super there.
"That old unit finally gave up, right over the wettest part of the roof. A puddle, naturally." The super frowned, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, V, that was just above here. All that debris came crashing down around 2 this afternoon." His eyes traveled up to where a piece of ancient machinery had been hurriedly shored up. A crew was trying to move it despite the rain, but the process looked to be slow and precarious.
"My-my cats?" V fought the nausea threatening to surface. Rumpole and Bailey, a pair of alley cat rescues, were her pride, joy and comfort,
"No worries, dearie." An older woman stepped forward and laid a hand on V's arm. "I got them soon as we found out what happened. They're asleep with Roxie, snug as bugs in the rug."
"Thanks, Mrs. Shanahan." One problem down. Roxie was her neighbor's brindle boxer. "But what about my apartment?"
"The real damage is up there." The super pointed to the hole in the ceiling. "Your floor got some from falling debris, but we're lucky the whole thing didn't come down on your living room. The crew needs to fix the roof and dry out the damage. Then repaint and re-carpet, buff the floors. We got most of it with tarp, but you never know." Marcus shrugged. "You can't stay here the next night or two, there'll be folks in around the clock. Have you got somewhere to go?"
"You can stay with us," Mrs. Shanahan offered.
The week's inanity threatened to close in. V smiled her best smile and prayed. She wanted refuge, but not here.
"I need to be at the office, so I'd better bunk in with a friend nearer there," she said graciously. "If you'd watch the cats?"
"Of course. Roxie and I have been cat-sitters often enough. But where will you be?"
V hit a recently re-programmed number on her cell, praying it would be answered. It was.
"You know that offer? Well, if you're free this weekend, I might take you up on it."
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Jack McCoy hurried to answer the buzzer. He had no idea what the ruckus was about, but it sure sounded like a major emergency from the sound of the call. He swung the door open and stared at the bedraggled swamp rat on his doorstep.
"V?" he finally asked.
The figure nodded, dripping water all over the hallway.
"Don't stand there, come inside. What happened to you?"
"I couldn't get a cab," she replied flatly as she dropped her duffel bag and jacket carefully on the doormat. "Look, right now all I want is a hot bath. Then I'll explain everything, OK?"
McCoy knew better than to press the matter. "This way, ma'am," he said with a flourish.
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V settled back into the steaming water and closed her eyes. Why, she asked herself, and tonight of all nights? Not only was she exhausted *and* muscle bound from the bedroom fun the prior evening, now she was taking refuge at the hands of the perpetrator. Calling Jack had been second nature, but not for scratching an itch this time. She just wanted a haven, a haven with someone she knew. No time for hanky or panky this weekend. There were stacks of nominations to be re-read, emails to wade through, kayaking on the Hudson the next afternoon, a brunch on Sunday and a nagging feeling that she might be subpoenaed at any moment. Plus it really *was* pouring outside.
"I've got a ticket on the heartburn express," she muttered to herself.
There was a tap at the door, followed by a male face appearing through the steam.
"I made you a spritzer," Jack McCoy said, handing over a wine glass. He sat down at the tub's edge and took a sip of his own drink. "There's pizza heating up and I threw a salad together. Sound all right?"
"More than all right." V smacked her lips. "Pinot grigio, just the way I like it. Thanks."
"My pleasure. Oh and your super called. They promise you can move back in Monday afternoon. And the cats are asleep at your neighbor's, no problems there." McCoy's tone dropped. "I don't suppose you want to talk about it?"
"What? There's a hole in my ceiling big enough to drive a Panzer through, that's all. It just was the last straw."
"Whatever you say." McCoy still knew the woman better than she, or he, wanted to admit.
"Stop looking." V didn't open her eyes. No luxury of bubbles here, she thought, just hot water and plenty of it, but the light showed up all the ravages of middle age. "The view's not worth it."
"You're forgetting I saw the original package," he laughed, splashing some water for effect. "I'll go check on dinner."
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"Nice." Jack indicated V's sweats, which bore the legend "Starfleet Academy."
"I didn't have time to think while I grabbed clothes," she replied flippantly. "Budge up, you're hogging the sofa as usual. I need to start working."
"Work can wait until we eat. What's so all-fired important that you're going to ignore the company and the cuisine? One of your students decide to throw the patio furniture off the balcony again?" McCoy responded teasingly.
"Don't remind me. We're settling out of court on that one." V sighed, allowing herself the luxury of being fed a slice of pizza. Work COULD wait. "But I have some nominations to get through tonight, for the PBA's."
"The what?"
"Sorry. It's a fan fiction thing, the Papa Bear Awards. We're voting on the best submissions for 2007 in all the categories."
McCoy said nothing but shot his companion a peculiar glance. "That's got to be a new one in the excuse department," he finally said.
"Been going on for years. And Jack, you KNOW by now what I do in my spare time." V sent a gentle kick towards a well-muscled thigh.
"I thought you played action woman. Aren't you kayaking tomorrow?" Jack knew banter was part of foreplay, just as his companion so often wrote it.
"Not in this deluge, no. I'll lock myself up in the office all day and finish cleaning out my inbox, just in time for the week to begin all over again."
"Poor you. Can't you be distracted for awhile?" The D.A. had ideas.
"I'm tired, for Pete's sake. Aren't you?" V was incredulous. "We stayed up all night, remember? I'm no spring chicken these days. No. Now please, I need to get some votes cast."
"Tomorrow ?" McCoy was ever the optimist, though he, too, welcomed the prospect of an early night. He 'd be the last to admit it but the prior evening's frolics had gotten to his muscles as well.
"Under advisement. Now shoo."
"Aren't you forgetting something? This is *my* home, counselor." McCoy stole a kiss before succumbing to his own workload.
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"Are you certain the problem has been resolved?" Benjamin Sisko asked his first officer.
"As well as can be expected," Kira replied. "It's not the most perfect of connections but we should get home. But we may get bumped around." She frowned. "I could kill that man," she admitted.
"Mr. Darvin will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of Federation and Klingon law," the captain said reassuringly. "And Mr. Worf has promised me he will watch the prisoner personally during our journey back to DS9."
"We're good to go." Kira Nerys got up from where the orb was now in place once more and took her place on the bridge.
"Engage," Sisko ordered, and the *Defiant* headed out to open space.
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"All hands, brace for turbulence!" Jadzia Dax shouted over the red alert klaxon.
"What is it?" Skisko shouted back, grabbing the console tightly.
"Some sort of rift opening up," the science officer yelled. "It was calm one minute, then that." She indicated a multicolored chasm dead ahead of the ship. "A force field has us. There's no use trying to fight, we'd break up like an egg. I bet the orb has something to do with this."
Further conversation was thwarted as the *Defiant* was pulled into the spatial anomaly.
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On the bridge, all was quiet once more, save for the odd console that was still sparking. It had been, to quote the old saying, one heck of a ride.
"Damage report?" Sisko asked tiredly, pleased the crew had come through intact.
"No communication. Warp drive is partially disabled, the core's banged up. Warp 3 is about all we can manage, in a pinch. Shields are about 25%, phasers were damaged a bit. But we've got to effect repairs and soon or else we'll start drifting," Dax stated.
"Very well, but where *are* we?" This from Odo, looking paler than normal. "I won't even ask *when*"
"I know those stars," Kira muttered. "Let me just check something." A moment later she whistled.
"Could you share the news with all of us?" Sisko asked, tapping his fingers.
"We're just outside the Terran system. "
Sisko was taken aback. "Are you certain? Can you ascertain what the timeframe might be?"
"Please, not the Mesozoic Period," Odo said under his breath.
"A fair amount of what you call space junk. Satellites, that sort of thing. Quite sophisticated for the time, but no sign of anything resembling Starfleet ships or facilities." Kira chewed her lip as she continued to scan. "I would say, as a guess, early 21st century."
"Great," Dax grunted. "We need a starbase and all we get is the space shuttle? We're stuck. Kira, can you get the orb working again?"
"We need full power to be able to do anything." The Bajoran was busily examining the object. "How the heck did we end up here, of all places? It doesn't make sense!"
"I think I may be to blame," Julian Bashir said. "I---I was kind of looking up that woman we met on the *Enterprise*, Lieutenant Watley? To see if she really was related to me. I had the search function on the main computer scanning late 20th and early 21st century Terran history for a reference. Maybe that's what caused us to end up here."
"That's all well and good," Sisko mused. "But apart from flagging down a passing scout ship, we're the proverbial sitting ducks. This was a dangerous time, remember. All sorts of visitors were observing Terra from a safe distance. Some of them were unsavory. Now back to our original problem. We need assistance, parts even, if we are to complete repairs. Does anyone have a suggestion as to where we might obtain them?"
"Any Vulcans in the vicinity?" Ono offered hopefully. A scathing glance from Worf, who'd joined the crew on the bridge, silenced him.
Jadzia Dax bent over her computer terminal. "I have an idea," she said slowly. "It's a complete long shot but the best chance we have. Worf, can you get someone to the Terran surface?"
The Klingon swiftly made calculations. "It is possible, but there is only enough power to allow a one way transport."
"It's settled, then." Dax stood up. "Captain, request permission to beam to the Terran surface, once we get there."
"What are you getting at?" Sisko replied, concern for the welfare of his officer competing with the need for a solution to the problem at hand.
"A gamble, but I know enough about this time period to get me somewhere I can obtain help. It's---complicated. There are beings on Terra that can help us, I just need to contact them.
"But why you?" Worf joined the conversation. "Surely someone else can make the journey."
"I'm best suited and versed in the history of the period. The captain can't be expected to leave at a time like this. And we need a physician here. Everyone else on board would stick out like the proverbial sore thumb, even if I AM going to New York City." Dax shrugged.
"New York City?" Realization spread over Sisko's face, along with a small smile. "Yes, if anyone can help us, they can. But there'll be he-- to pay with the Temporal Investigations crew, you realize."
"As if we aren't in enough trouble already?" Kira added with a laugh. "I say go for it, Jadzia. What do we have to lose?"
"It's settled then. Let me throw together some kind of suitable attire. With any luck, my spots won't re-appear for a few more days. By then, I'm hoping we're back home."
"So do we all," Sisko agreed.
Jadzia raced into her quarters and glanced around. In 21st century Manhattan, the phrase 'anything goes' was the norm. She pulled on casual gear and ordered up a heavy outer jacket in case the weather was inclement. Now what else? Gloves, sure, she had those. And a scarf. She needed something to wrap around her face against any elements. Ah, there it was.
"Sorry, Inky," she told the spotted tribble that had been sleeping there. "But I need this more than you do right now." After she stuffed the woolen wrap into a large jacket pocket, Jadzia carefully placed the furry creature on her pillow. "Stay warm, but don't eat anything!" she ordered her illegal visitor. "The last thing we need is babies."
Worf had the coordinates ready when Jadzia got to the transporter. "I shall set you down in that large open space you indicated. But you will not have any communication with the ship until we finish repairing the console," he cautioned the woman. "And as for returning, unless we obtain the necessary supplies, it is difficult to say what you may face." A trace of concern was apparent in his eyes. "Be careful, Jadzia. I only wish I could accompany you on so dangerous a mission."
"Thanks, Worf. I appreciate your sentiment more than you know. Tell you what, when we get back to DS9, how about a game of tongo? On me?" The trill symbiont smiled at the Klingon, then hopped up on to the pad. "Energize," she said.
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Jadzia materialized just near the borders of Central Park. It was late afternoon by the looks of things, stormy and nasty. Few people were about. She stepped from the shelter of the trees and was blasted full on by rainy wind.
"Good thing I brought this," she said to herself.
A moment later she'd drawn out her scarf and wrapped it protectively around herself. Then with a quick scan at her PADD, she began making her way towards apartment 12B.
Her interquadrant hitchhiker lay on the soggy ground.
FIN of Chapter 1. TBC!
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Ok, couple of things. This is set post "Trials and Tribble-ations" in the DS9 universe.
Jadzia is, of course, headed to the old apartment office of Gary Seven and Roberta Lincoln, who featured in "Assignment:Earth." But whoever dreamed up that address, 811 E. 68th Street, must not have been thinking straight. My Mapquest says that would put it in the middle of Brooklyn, in Bergen Beach! So I am presuming the wars changed addresses, there's another 811, or maybe it's 81? At any rate, I set it east of Central Park and that's that.
As for the wars supposed to have raged by the time 2009 rolled around, well, TOS was written 40+ years ago, so…as the HH trial is set in present day 2009, this story is too.
Rumpole and Bailey are named for the popular English series, "Rumpole of the Bailey." V is academic dean at Hudson University Law School (a fictional institution in the L&O universe) and was Jack McCoy's first law clerk.