Summery: Malcolm Reed vs. the Temporal Cold War

Disclaimer: No. I'm just playing around in their sandbox.

Etc: Begun when my school had a bomb threat. They sent us out side for twenty minutes—in the cold with no jackets, no less—and brought us into the gym while the search was finished. First of all, you don't need a degree in weapons engineering to know that if a bomb goes off you really shouldn't be in the same building as said bomb.

Etc. Part Deux: There will be nine parts all together, all but one AUs. I like AUs.

Feedback: Who am I to stop you?

Side Step

i: yesterday

The thing in front of you on the disk is white and fluffy. The thing next to the disk is cold and sharp and has five prongs. You pick the silver thing up and stab the white thing. The white thing breaks apart on the silver thing. You lift them both to your mouth and put them in. You remember this. Angel food cake; fork; plate. You remember these things.

So why don't you remember yesterday? You don't know why; you're not sure. Is there even a yesterday? Does time exist? Or is it one big lake? Never ending, always swimming? Are you even real? Are you stuck in limbo? What is this?

Yesterday isn't yesterday; you know this. Because, you reason, you would know yesterday, you would remember it. And yet—you don't. You remember this, this fork, this plate, this cake. But not yesterday; no, not yesterday, never yesterday.

And what's your name, for that matter? Who are you, what are you? Are you human? And what's a human? You look around. What is this place? You're alone. The room (is that what this is?) is empty. No one, not a soul. The walls (is that what those are called?) are gray. There are empty spaces in the walls you can see out of but can't reach out of. You look out of it.

Suddenly, you know. You know you're in a room, the mess hall. You know what a mess hall is. You know those are walls and that's food and those empty spaces are windows and what you see out of them is space and stars and that thing there is a planet and you're on a starship. The starship Enterprise. But you still don't know yesterday, not yesterday, never yesterday.

There are footsteps and the door (a door? yes, a door) opens. Someone walks in and you know who it is because part of you says you should. It's Trip; Charles, Charlie, Tucker, Commander, Trip. He says something. A word, maybe? A name? Your name?

"Mal?" Yes, that's you. You are Mal and he is Trip and you're friends. More? Maybe. He says more words (a sentence?) and you respond with words of your own because you think that's what you're supposed to do. He sits down before you and takes your hand.

"You gonna make me an honest man someday?" You don't think these new words are right. You don't think he should be saying these things to you. This isn't right. But maybe it is. Maybe something's changed and that's why you don't remember yesterday and maybe that's why you think you should respond to his words because maybe (just maybe) you think you might like this change.

"Maybe." That world feels right and he smiles and that feels right, too. You just might like this change, but you're not sure he should be smiling at you like that because you're a m—and maybe that's what changed. Maybe that's why you can't remember yesterday and maybe that's why he's smiling at you like that because you're not you anymore. Because you're not Malcolm anymore. He stands up, his hand still holding yours.

"Come back to bed, Mallory."

Yes, Mallory. That's you.

So why don't you remember you?

CONTINUED