The Time We Know

by channelD

written for: the NFA Star Trek Crossover challenge. The aim of the challenge is to have the NCIS team meet up with the characters of Star Trek...any Star Trek...either in our future, or in their past.
rating: K plus
genre: AU, science fiction, drama
characters: Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, Tim, and the cast of Star Trek: The Next Generation

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disclaimer: I own nothing of either NCIS nor of Star Trek. If I did, I'd be rich!

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Prologue

"I'm not certain whether I'm to apologize to you, or to throw you into my brig," said the bald-headed man in an angry tone as he walked around the foursome. Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, had deliberately seated the newcomers in chairs close together in the center of his ready room, two facing one way, two the opposite way. It was a small power set-up, where they couldn't all see each other's eyes.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed, and his voice was strained. The three hours on the ship already felt like three days without sleep. "With all due respect, Captain; as I've already said, we were chasing our suspect, who was wanted in two murders—"

"He was our suspect, Agent Gibbs. He was born in the 24th century, committed crimes here equally heinous, fled to your time, and so in pursuit—"

"Yes, we know. You nabbed us in the same net by accident." Gibbs was weary. They'd been over this ground before; several times now. He was amazed that he was no longer stunned by being over 300 years in the future. The military never seemed to change, and maybe that was some comfort. Beside him, however, Tim was still wide-eyed, looking around the ready room, trying to analyze—even comprehend—all the wonders he saw. Gibbs wondered what Tony and Ziva were thinking.

"So what shall I do with you now?" asked Picard, looking Gibbs straight in the eye.

"Send us back to 2008?"

"Not possible at the moment. We're already well beyond range for that; it will be at least eight weeks before we're in position again—and that's only if we're not called away for something else." He responded to a chime from his computer. "Ah. Your backgrounds all check out. Good, good. I'll be pleased to have you all as guests of the Enterprise, then. You'll have the run of the ship, except for a few secure areas." As the four smiled tentatively, Picard added, "Is there anything I can get for you?"

Gibbs smiled slightly. "Do you still drink coffee in the 24th century?"

"Not I, but some do. How do you take it?"

"Strong and black."

Picard appeared to address the wall. "Coffee. Strong. Black. Hot." In less than half a minute a steaming cup appeared. The NCIS agents gaped. Gibbs accepted it, sipped it, and his eyes widened. It was superb.

"Could I please have fruit juice?" asked Ziva.

"Of course," said Picard. "Whingberry. Cold," he said to the wall, and brought her a tall, frosted glass of a blue-lavender liquid. "A favorite of the ship. From the planet Holsham II."

Ziva looked at it gravely, and then tasted it. Her smile was huge.

Tony turned his head and lightly punched Tim's arm. "Ask for a Caf-Pow!" he whispered.

"You," Tim whispered back.

"I'm scared, Probie."

"I am, too. We're a long way from home…and going farther away every second." The view out the window of the stars receding was anything but homelike.

- - - - -

Chapter 1: Similarities

Turned out in a borrowed set of unmarked navy-and-white tunic and slacks, Tony was enjoying his endless meandering of the ship. It was now his third day of exploration, and he was feeling more at ease all the time. At first he'd been a bit put out by the unfamiliar clothes, but when it was explained to him that it would take the ship's laundry facilities some time to understand the archaic 21st century cloth and weave, he'd shrugged and accepted the clothing offered. It was a marvel to him that this new material could be endlessly washed or reconstituted or whatever magic they said they did to it. He didn't understand the process, but that wasn't important; only the results were.

The room he was sharing with Tim was large enough and reasonably pleasant. The food-machine-in-the-wall-thingie was another puzzle, but Tony was happy to accept it for what it was. You ordered it, in specific language, to deliver food, and it readily complied. There were a few downfalls to it, though: it didn't know what a Philly cheese steak was, nor rocky road ice cream. How could civilization have fallen so in just a few centuries? Tony had some worries that Tim might starve to death, for he would order food and then just stare at the wall-thingie, trying to figure it out. They might have to force feed him.

But that wasn't high on Tony's priorities…certainly not as high as checking out all the lovely people of the female persuasion on the ship. Tony thanked his lucky stars (ha!) that this man's navy was, more precisely, this man's and woman's navy. Flirtation didn't seem to have changed much over the centuries, although some of his best pick-up lines now only returned puzzled looks or laughs. He'd have to work on that. If indeed they'd be back to an earth drop-off point in eight weeks…well, there would be no shortage of date opportunities in the meantime.

Somewhere, there was bound to be a web (they still had the web, didn't they? How could they not have the web?) entry for 24th century slang. That was what he needed to know to look cool and mingle. Hey, baby; what's your sign? had come and gone long before he'd entered the dating ranks, but then, maybe everything old was new again. It was so confusing.

Besides dating, Tony just plain found a fascination with the on-ship society. As a former cop, not to mention a special agent, he'd been pretty good at reading people. Here, far in the future, he was pleased to see that they were no different from his own time. Sure, they dressed differently, and none of the accents were quite like anything he remembered, but they still had the same emotions. At least, the earth-natives did. The non-human, non-earth people (not that there were many of them) were different in their own ways, but they clearly strove to adapt to the ways of the human majority, to fit in and do their jobs, in most cases.

United Federation of Planets…And here he'd always thought the US federal government was as big a bureaucracy as he could ever imagine.

He spent time talking to as many people as he could in their spare moments. There was rarely a person so in a rush that they wouldn't stop for a short chat. It was energizing, and also comforting. So far, his time was pretty enjoyable.

- - - - -

"Whoa! Sorry!" he said simultaneously with another man as they nearly collided at a turn in the corridor. This was five days into the team's arrival on the Enterprise.

"My fault, I wasn't paying close enough attention," said the other man, who looked somewhat authoritative. "You must be one of our time-displaced guests. I've just gotten back on board and heard about you people. Will Riker."

Tony shook the offered hand. "Anthony, or Tony, DiNozzo. I beg your pardon, but I can't recognize the ranks yet—"

"Commander."

"Do I, ah, address you as 'sir', then?"

It was a polite enough question, but Tony sensed that the other man recognized a certain amount of insolence, or disregard for authority, behind it. The man looked like he was holding back a grin, feeling perhaps a kindred spirit. His tone remained polite and mildly friendly. "You're a guest here. 'Will' will do."

"Nice to meet you, Will."

"Are you settling in all right, Tony? Any problems or concerns?"

Tony started to speak, and then laughed. "You sound more like the ship's purser. Or cruise director. Do you still have those?"

Will grinned. "No, but I know what they are. And I'm sorry if I came off a little formal. I meet a lot of people, and…well, never mind that. What do they have you doing?"

"Doing? Here?" Tony felt a fleeting panic. "I wasn't aware I was supposed to be doing anything. Captain Picard said we could have the run of the ship."

"Ah," said Will, who then glanced away. Tony recognized this as the sign of one who didn't agree with the ruling of his superior.

"If I'm supposed to be doing something, or can help the ship in anyway…"

"No, no; you should be free to enjoy your time here. Do as you've been doing."

"Aren't you afraid…isn't there supposed to be some danger in my teammates and I returning to our own time, with all this futuristic knowledge? Are you going to erase our memories before we go?" He cringed at the thought.

Will laughed. "That won't be necessary. Fiction writers used that ploy for a couple hundred years. Come on, Tony; when you go back and tell your people about the Enterprise…who's going to believe you?"

Sighing, Tony put his hand on his neck. "No one, I guess. I'm not sure I believe it myself."

"Oh, it's not that serious. Listen, have you been to 10-Forward yet?"

"No, what is it?"

"It's the ship's lounge. I'll take you there, and buy you a drink."

"A bar? On a Navy vessel??" Intrigued, Tony followed the commander.

- - - - -

It was indeed a bar, a lounge, a hang-out. Tastefully decorated in calming tones, 10-Forward was inviting without being inciting. Tony recognized the necessity of it straight off: it was a place where people could come in their off-duty time, while the ship might be months away from a port-of-call with a suitable tavern.

"Welcome back, Will," said the smiling bartender, a woman with an exotic look. She appeared ageless, and wore a gown of many tucks and folds, and a turban-type affair on her head.

"Thanks, Guinan. It's great to be home," said Will. "And this is—"

"No, let me guess. Tony, right?"

"How did you—are you a telepath, or something? Do you have telepaths here in this time? I'm sure McGee would believe you do." Tony could barely stop his babble.

"No, I've just heard about your group, same as everyone else. You're the first one to visit my lounge. Now, what can I get you?"

Tony noticed she hadn't said how she knew his name, but shrugged that off. "Do you really serve alcohol?"

"No. I serve synthehol. It has the same taste, and gives you the same buzz, but there's none of the bad effects of alcohol: no hangovers, upset stomach, and so on."

Tony looked pleased. "I'll have a beer, then, please. Guinan."

"What brand?"

"Uh…I don't know. Probably nothing I'd recognize is around anymore. A lager, I guess."

A soft tone arose from the insignia on Will's shirt, and he tapped it once. "Riker…"

"Will, I need to consult with you. Come to my ready room."

"Right away, Captain." Will tapped the insignia again. "Sorry to have to run, Tony, but—"

"Duty calls. I understand."

"Good. See you later." Will clapped him on the shoulder, and left.

"He seems like a good person," Tony remarked to Guinan.

"One of the best."

Again that exotic smile. Tony noticed that as she turned her head, her dark eyes appeared to lighten. He nearly choked on his beer as it occurred to him that maybe she wasn't from earth. But she seemed nice. He had the feeling that he could talk to her about anything. So…

"Do you like your job? Bartending?"

"I get to talk to nearly everyone, and I like that. Almost everyone comes through here at one time or another."

"I like doing that, too. Except sometimes I think I talk too much and just shouldn't open my mouth. My mouth gets me into trouble."

She gave him a fresh lager. "People who can assess themselves honestly will go far."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I do. As I say, I get to talk to nearly everyone. And I do more than talk; I listen. I come from a planet of listeners. But you…NCIS people; you're like police, right? So you must be used to listening…observing…investigating."

"Yeah, I guess so. That's pretty much my day."

"Those are fine skills to have."

"They're probably pretty outmoded here in the 24th century, though. You must be way beyond what we were doing in 2008."

"Well, that's not my line of work, so I can't say for sure, but I think you would be surprised. Yes, the equipment must be different, but still, it's the understanding of people that is at the heart of good detection: motive, compassion, emotion, desire. People haven't changed all that much."

"But not everyone here is…human."

"You don't have to whisper it, Tony. There's no reason to be ashamed of being a human." Her eyes twinkled.

"That's not what I meant," he said, blushing a little. "People who aren't human must have different ways than humans do."

"Don't worry so much about the differences. Concentrate on the similarities, instead. Excuse me." She turned to serve new customers.

Tony drained his glass and walked out. Could it be as simple as that? Similarities, across so much time?

He headed back to his quarters, wanting some food to soak up the synthehol. On the way he passed a couple in an annex exchanging a quick kiss; two kids playing hide-and-go-seek, and a man walking slowly while muttering.

Tim was in their room, with a half-full glass that might be a strawberry milkshake beside him. "It's just so different, this technology," he mumbled.

Tony smiled. "You're approaching it from the wrong point of view, Probie. The tech is different, but the people are the same. And that's what counts."