A/N: Wow. I'm stunned by the positive response so far! Thank you all for making this worth while. Especially to my kind reviewers; elbcw (Not in this chapter, things will start happening soon!) RoaringMice (lol - I can just imagine a written British accent...aaay sa-y, old chap...thank God Malcolm doesn't talk like that!) General Kunama (Thank you, and yes...there will be more chapters...if my computer monitor doesn't give up the ghost!) The Libran Iniquity (lol - thank you - wait until you read the next chapter. With the stick. No spoilers...) Exploded Pen (awww, shucks, you'll make my head get big! I've done the thing with the 'mind you head sign' too... hurts like a bugger, don't it? I'm over 6ft tall, too - you'd have thought I'd see the bloody thing...!) and Quickbeam1 (thanks for your review - I just like to torture these people!)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Chapter Three

"So…if we're between fics, this is the only time we're aware of our situation?" Hoshi asked, trying not to look at anyone in case a Fanfic Writer got the wrong idea.

"Apparently so," T'Pol nodded, another human gesture that was being imposed on her with irritating frequency, "I am…at a loss as to what to suggest."

There was a long pause where, once again, nothing happened. Then, out of the blue, Trip punched Malcolm.

"What the hell was that for?" Archer asked, as Reed picked himself up off the floor.

"Dunno," Trip shrugged, "he's the only Limey aboard – stands to reason the Yanks can kick the crap out of him."

"Oh," Archer said, not knowing how to respond.

There was another long pause. Hoshi threw herself at Travis, but he'd been forgotten about again so she ended up with her arms wrapped around T'Pol, who simply gave her a Vulcan nerve pinch. Hoshi fell to the deck.

"That might have been the Vulcan death grip," Trip commented.

"There is no such thing as a Vulcan death grip," T'Pol growled.

"Easy on the growling, there," Trip teased, "We might think you've got emotions."

"What are you, stupid?" T'Pol bellowed, "Of course I've got bloody emotions! Everybody knows it! I can't pretend anymore! I'm just a normal human with prosthetic ears and a spray-on body suit!"

"Calm down, T'Pol, that's not helping," Archer said, calmly, as T'Pol immediately switched back to 'cold Vulcan' mode, "We need to do something constructive!"

"I could build some more weapons…" Reed offered.

"They'd only blow up in ya face," Trip replied, "Maybe we need to bring in some other people to ask…"

"No!" cried Archer, T'Pol, Reed, Hoshi and Travis, but the damage had been done.

Four shimmering transporter columns appeared, leaving behind four newcomers.

"Oh, no," Trip groaned, "Crossovers. Great."

"Crossovers?" Hoshi repeated, batting her eyelashes at the newcomers.

"Characters from different stories or timelines or realities are introduced to our universe," T'Pol explained, "Usually established members of a mirror universe, alternate timeline, or visitors from the future."

"Who the hell are you people?" Archer demanded, "And don't start with the, 'oh my gosh, what's going on' crap, just tell me."

"Uh," said the first, a young man with sandy coloured hair and blue eyes, "I'm lieutenant Tom Paris, helmsman of the USS Voyager. I'm from the future!"

"Wonderful," said Archer, dryly, "Next, please?"

"I'm from an alternate reality," said a tall man with dark hair, "I'm Han Solo, Captain of the Millennium Falcon."

"Never heard of it," Archer said, "next?"

"Uh, hi," said an attractive woman with short blonde hair, "I'm kind of from an alternative reality and the past…I'm Major Sam Carter, SG1, based at Stargate Command."

"Never heard of that, either," Archer replied, "this is getting more and more far fetched. What about you?"

"Well," breathed the final character, a woman who was every man's desire, perfect in every way, "I'm Mary Sue, and I…"

She got no further. A blast from a phase pistol killed her instantly.

"Good shot, Malcolm," Archer nodded, "the rest of you, shove off back to your own universes. There's nothing going to happen here."

Muttering discontentedly, the three of them shuffled off into the turbo-lift, Sam Carter pausing long enough to kick Malcolm Reed for no apparent reason, and they disappeared from thought. Mary Sue vanished as well, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

---

"Now what?" Trip asked, "So far, we've not gotten any further towards finding a way out of this situation. Stuff still keeps happening. My accent still isn't right!"

"I keep getting beaten up," Malcolm added, sulkily.

"I'm loosing control of my emotions," T'Pol sobbed.

"I need love!" Hoshi wept.

"I…I…I can't take this any more!" Archer screamed, "Get a hold of yourselves! You're Starfleet officers! Start acting like it!"

There was a long moment of silence.

"Aww. Looks like someone needs a hug…" Hoshi said.

"Get away from me!"

There was another long moment of silence.

"Malcolm, have I ever told you…"

"Don't go there, Trip."

Silence.

"Captain, would now be a good time to…?"

"No, Hoshi."

Silence.

"Maybe they're finally out of ideas," Trip whispered, as if whispering would help.

"Shut up, Trip."

Long pause.

"I mean, maybe we can just pretend this never happened…"

"Shut up, Trip!"

Silence reigned once more. A section of the wall suddenly came away and flattened Lt. Reed, but everyone ignored it.

"Do you think we should…?"

"Hoshi, be quiet. If we do nothing, they might loose interest in us."

---

There was a long silence, that was suddenly ended, by of all things, a giggle. Archer frowned.

"Hoshi?" he said, warningly.

"It wasn't me, Jon," Hoshi purred, batting her eyelids at him, "Though if you like, I can-?"

"Shut up?" Archer suggested, "Yes please. Now who giggled? Trip?"

"Ah reeee-sent that," Trip scowled, "Ahhhhhm an engineeeer, not some gosh-daaaarrrrned school girrrrrl."

"That's one hell of a drawl you've got there, commander. Now who giggled? Malcolm? It was you, wasn't it?"

Pulling himself free of the wall that had previously crushed him, Reed bristled at the accusation.

"Tactical officers do not giggle, captain," he said, pointedly.

"Oh, lighten up," muttered a voice.

Archer spun around.

"Who said that?" he snapped, "T'Pol, I'm looking at you…?"

"So I see, captain, but if you'll raise your eyes a few inches, you might be able to see my face…?"

Glancing away quickly and clearing his throat, Archer had the good grace to look embarrassed. Hoshi was glaring at him.

"Captain, I do not believe that we are the only occupants of this room," T'Pol said, quietly, interrupting the 'love interest' argument before it could start.

"Intruders?" Malcolm perked up a little, "Does this mean I can shoot them?"

"Hey!" protested a voice.

"Shh!" whispered another, frantically, "They'll hear you!"

"What's going on?" Archer demanded, swinging around, trying to locate the mysterious voices, "Who's there? I order you to come out, right now!"

"He threatened to shoot me!" complained the first invisible voice, ignoring Archer, "That's not allowed. He's not supposed to fight back!"

Archer opened his mouth to argue with the voice, when, suddenly, out of nowhere, a large stick appeared and began to prod Malcolm in the back.

"What the-? Hey, ouch! Stop – ouch – stop it!"

No matter which way Reed twisted, the stick followed him, prodding and occasionally whacking him over the head for good measure. He started running in circles around the table, but the stick followed, eliciting the occasional yelp and the not-so-occasional curse word. The rating of the story meant that most of what Reed said couldn't be written down, but the author is sure the reader can fill in the blanks.

"Ow! --- it! Get this --- thing off me! One of you --- do something, for --- sake! This isn't ---- funny, you rotten ------! Ow! ----!"

Archer and the others watched for a few minutes in complete disbelief, before turning away and leaving Reed to get on with it.

"Ideas, anyone?"

"Obviously it is the Fanfic Writers," T'Pol commented, trying to bring the conversation back on track, "There is little we can do, I'm afraid."

"I'm all for blowing up the ship at the moment, Captain," Trip grumbled, "Great. No accent again."

He made a grab at the stick as Malcolm ran past him on another lap around the table, but missed. It swung around and bashed him on the head, before continuing its pursuit of Reed. Rubbing the bruise, Trip scowled.

"We're not blowing up the ship," Archer sighed, rubbing his face tiredly, "Hoshi? Do you think you could find a way to talk to them?"

"Fat chance," muttered a voice.

"Excuse me, ensign?" Archer said, darkly.

"I didn't say anything, Jon," Hoshi replied, sulkily, "No-one's paying me any attention. It's not fair. Even Travis is ignoring me."

"Who?" Archer asked, blankly, "Oh, never mind. T'Pol…is there a problem…?

The Vulcan was staring at Reed, who'd collapsed on the deck, panting with exhaustion. The stick still hovered nearby, and there was the distinct sound of someone sniggering. Archer looked around slowly. None of the officers around the table were making any noise.

"T'Pol…?" Archer said, quietly.

"Captain," there was genuine fear in T'Pol's voice as she turned to face him, "The…the Writers. They're…here."

---

TBC

---

FYI – I'm a Brit. Sorry to anyone who took offence at the Limey/Yank joke. I try to discriminate equally against everyone. (And I always end up begging people not to take offence. Please, take offence. Just put it back in the garden when you're finished…offence…a fence? Oh, forget it…)

It is best not to take me seriously.