Shift, 4/?
Emily blinked.
It had been a very, very long time since she had woken up with a stranger lying in bed next to her. So long, in fact, that she couldn’t even remember the identity of the stranger in question. This one, though, wasn’t the kind of man she usually would have bedded, regardless of inebriation. He was youngish - about Reid’s age - and looked as though he had as much world experience as a goldfish.
And then she remembered.
She was trapped in this strange, dream-like state. Why her subconscious wanted her to wake up with a stranger, though, she wasn’t quite sure.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked him abruptly. Maybe knowing that, at the very least, would give her an indication of where she happened to be this time.
‘I…you’ve forgotten?’ He sounded somewhat hurt at that. ‘I suppose…the amount of people you...spend time with, you can’t be expected to remember all of their names.’
That sounded bad. That sounded really bad.
Before she could say anything, though - before she could rectify her error, he had slipped out of the bed, and was searching for his pants.
In light of the uncomfortable silence, Emily took the opportunity to examine her surroundings. Stylishly decorated. Eastern influence. Not the kind of décor she usually would have picked.
‘Would you mind if I requested your services when you come to Persephone next?’ the timid young man asked, now fully clothed. It took several seconds for the words to sink in. Eastern influence. Persephone. Waking up with a stranger.
Oh, boy.
‘Of course,’ she said, with all the politeness that a diplomat’s daughter could muster. It didn’t matter if this was a hallucinated world. She wasn’t about to throw a wrench into the works if this was the only way of getting back to reality.
He left quickly after that, as if she was going to attack him if he stayed in there any longer. Emily tried to collect her thoughts.
First things first. Get dressed.
The only options are like the décor - very different to what Emily herself would have picked. Flowy, decorative stuff. She’d seen a lot of clothes like this in her time globetrotting, and yet she’d always found herself going back to jeans and a t-shirt. It was different, but not entirely uncomfortable.
No sooner than she had slipped the sari on, the door to the shuttle swung open.
‘Hotch!’ She had spoken the Unit Chief’s name without thinking. She knew that no matter how much this person looked like her boss, he wasn’t. This man had Hotch’s facial features, but he wore a long brown coat, a weathered button up shirt, boots, suspenders, and tight pants.
…
Very tight pants.
‘Staring at somethin’, Inara?’ he asked, and for a moment she was transfixed by his voice. She knew that Hotch had grown up in the south, and yet you wouldn’t have thought it after hearing his voice. This southern drawl is what she might have expected. ‘And here I was thinking that you got enough of that being a companion.’
Emily frowned. She wanted to him to get to the point so that she could do whatever she needed to do to get out of this place. The thought of jumping through fictional universe for the rest of her life was almost horrific. While she did enjoy immersing herself in them on frequent occasions, that didn’t extend to living in them. She much preferred her own life, as depressing as it was.
‘What’s going on, Captain Reynolds?’ she asked, putting emphasis on his fictional name, as if it might spur him into action.
‘Reavers,’ he announced.
‘Wait, wait…weren’t we just docked? How can there be…You know what? Never mind.’ It didn’t matter if her hallucinations were particularly logical, or if they followed the laws of physics, or even the laws of canon. She just wanted to get the hell out of there.
‘We’re all meeting at in the cargo bay,’ he continued. ‘Weapons will be distributed, and we’re going to kick their asses.’
His voice had segued into an amalgamation of the fictional character, and the person on whom he was based. Emily figured that her subconscious could only think up so much southern slang and Chinese swear words. This was a balance.
‘Right,’ confirmed Emily. ‘Kick their asses so I can get the hell out of here.’ She paused, realizing that it might not be so simple. It was Whedon, after all. There was probably going to be a meaningful death in there somewhere. Or a completely meaningless death. Both possibilities were highly likely.
* * *
‘You two took your time getting here,’ commented Morgan, as Emily and Hotch descended the staircase, momentarily letting go of his rifle to adjust his tuque. ‘Did you bring the grenades?’
Emily arched an eyebrow. No surprises there.
A rifle-wielding JJ met them at the bottom of the stairs. It was a modified Winchester 1892. A Mare’s Leg. Used by Steve McQueen in Wanted: Dead or Alive. It was amazing the strange things you can learn from watching TV with Spencer Reid. ‘They’re docking,’ she announced, some semblance of fear in her voice. You didn’t get away from the Reavers alive.
‘We can’t just fly out of here?’ Emily asked, turning to evaluate the other members of the crew. Standing beside Morgan was Will, wearing a ludicrous Hawaiian shirt. There was Rossi, looking very much like a priest, Garcia in a flowery, grease-splotched shirt, and Kevin, looking far more respectable than Emily had ever seen him, in a white button-up shirt, and dark vest.
There was someone missing.
It took all her self-control not to laugh when the missing person showed up. Reid’s hair flowed past his shoulders, and he wore a loose-fitting dress. ‘She doesn’t belong,’ he said in an ethereal voice, eyes boring into Emily’s. ‘She never has.’
She was startled for a moment, before remembering that the words came from her own subconscious, rather than from a troubled teen psychic.
Hotch eyed Reid. ‘Is she going to be a problem?’ he asked Kevin, who gave a tiny shrug. ‘I can sedate her if you’d like, but then she won’t be able to save the day with her latent kung fu powers.’
‘Maybe we should sedate him too,’ suggested Morgan, a remark which elicited no support. Sedating the only doctor was never a good idea.
‘No-one is going to be sedated without my say-so,’ Hotch said loudly, taking control of the situation. ‘Wash, get to the bridge, make sure someone’s flying this boat. Kaylee - keep her up in the air. I want everyone else armed, and ready to take out every single gorram Reaver that sets foot on this ship. Are we clear?’
‘I like the kind of enemies we can send away with a well-placed bribe,’ commented Will jovially, to which Hotch replied;
‘Ain’t got the credits for that, Wash.’
There was a brief flurry of movement as Will left for the bridge, and Garcia, the engine room. Emily found the circumstances dubious; there were a multitude of other ways to get out of this situation without fighting, but apparently that wasn’t to the liking of her subconscious. This was the way things were going to go whether she liked it or not.
‘Okay, Simon, does River have any as yet unheard of kung-fu skills?’ Hotch asked Kevin. ‘Because it may come to that.’
‘It’s a distinct possibility,’ replied Kevin fervently. ‘Though it may take a Fruity Oaty Bar commercial.’ He took the weapon Hotch handed him with some hesitation. Emily wasn’t quite sure if he would resort to using it, but then, it didn’t really matter anyway.
Rossi took up the rifle with more experience than was befitting to a man of the cloth.
‘You’re alright with killing Reavers, Shepherd?’ Hotch asked, with some humor in his voice.
Rossi didn’t answer, but instead gave a mysterious smile.
And in the end, none of it really mattered, because as it turned out, Reid did, in fact have hitherto unmentioned kung-fu skills, to the extent where the rest of them found it far more pragmatic to simply sit back and watch.
‘This would have been useful all those other times bad stuff went down,’ commented Hotch. There was a brief murmuring of agreement.
‘Just wish I could have used my grenades,’ said Morgan mournfully. Emily rolled her eyes, hearing JJ mention something about explosive decompression.
‘It’s time to go.’
She looked up, and noticed that Reid was standing right in front of her. He’d killed all the Reavers without even breaking a sweat.
Time to…oh.
Fair enough, then. She closed her eyes.
And the world shifted.
It had been a very, very long time since she had woken up with a stranger lying in bed next to her. So long, in fact, that she couldn’t even remember the identity of the stranger in question. This one, though, wasn’t the kind of man she usually would have bedded, regardless of inebriation. He was youngish - about Reid’s age - and looked as though he had as much world experience as a goldfish.
And then she remembered.
She was trapped in this strange, dream-like state. Why her subconscious wanted her to wake up with a stranger, though, she wasn’t quite sure.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked him abruptly. Maybe knowing that, at the very least, would give her an indication of where she happened to be this time.
‘I…you’ve forgotten?’ He sounded somewhat hurt at that. ‘I suppose…the amount of people you...spend time with, you can’t be expected to remember all of their names.’
That sounded bad. That sounded really bad.
Before she could say anything, though - before she could rectify her error, he had slipped out of the bed, and was searching for his pants.
In light of the uncomfortable silence, Emily took the opportunity to examine her surroundings. Stylishly decorated. Eastern influence. Not the kind of décor she usually would have picked.
‘Would you mind if I requested your services when you come to Persephone next?’ the timid young man asked, now fully clothed. It took several seconds for the words to sink in. Eastern influence. Persephone. Waking up with a stranger.
Oh, boy.
‘Of course,’ she said, with all the politeness that a diplomat’s daughter could muster. It didn’t matter if this was a hallucinated world. She wasn’t about to throw a wrench into the works if this was the only way of getting back to reality.
He left quickly after that, as if she was going to attack him if he stayed in there any longer. Emily tried to collect her thoughts.
First things first. Get dressed.
The only options are like the décor - very different to what Emily herself would have picked. Flowy, decorative stuff. She’d seen a lot of clothes like this in her time globetrotting, and yet she’d always found herself going back to jeans and a t-shirt. It was different, but not entirely uncomfortable.
No sooner than she had slipped the sari on, the door to the shuttle swung open.
‘Hotch!’ She had spoken the Unit Chief’s name without thinking. She knew that no matter how much this person looked like her boss, he wasn’t. This man had Hotch’s facial features, but he wore a long brown coat, a weathered button up shirt, boots, suspenders, and tight pants.
…
Very tight pants.
‘Staring at somethin’, Inara?’ he asked, and for a moment she was transfixed by his voice. She knew that Hotch had grown up in the south, and yet you wouldn’t have thought it after hearing his voice. This southern drawl is what she might have expected. ‘And here I was thinking that you got enough of that being a companion.’
Emily frowned. She wanted to him to get to the point so that she could do whatever she needed to do to get out of this place. The thought of jumping through fictional universe for the rest of her life was almost horrific. While she did enjoy immersing herself in them on frequent occasions, that didn’t extend to living in them. She much preferred her own life, as depressing as it was.
‘What’s going on, Captain Reynolds?’ she asked, putting emphasis on his fictional name, as if it might spur him into action.
‘Reavers,’ he announced.
‘Wait, wait…weren’t we just docked? How can there be…You know what? Never mind.’ It didn’t matter if her hallucinations were particularly logical, or if they followed the laws of physics, or even the laws of canon. She just wanted to get the hell out of there.
‘We’re all meeting at in the cargo bay,’ he continued. ‘Weapons will be distributed, and we’re going to kick their asses.’
His voice had segued into an amalgamation of the fictional character, and the person on whom he was based. Emily figured that her subconscious could only think up so much southern slang and Chinese swear words. This was a balance.
‘Right,’ confirmed Emily. ‘Kick their asses so I can get the hell out of here.’ She paused, realizing that it might not be so simple. It was Whedon, after all. There was probably going to be a meaningful death in there somewhere. Or a completely meaningless death. Both possibilities were highly likely.
* * *
‘You two took your time getting here,’ commented Morgan, as Emily and Hotch descended the staircase, momentarily letting go of his rifle to adjust his tuque. ‘Did you bring the grenades?’
Emily arched an eyebrow. No surprises there.
A rifle-wielding JJ met them at the bottom of the stairs. It was a modified Winchester 1892. A Mare’s Leg. Used by Steve McQueen in Wanted: Dead or Alive. It was amazing the strange things you can learn from watching TV with Spencer Reid. ‘They’re docking,’ she announced, some semblance of fear in her voice. You didn’t get away from the Reavers alive.
‘We can’t just fly out of here?’ Emily asked, turning to evaluate the other members of the crew. Standing beside Morgan was Will, wearing a ludicrous Hawaiian shirt. There was Rossi, looking very much like a priest, Garcia in a flowery, grease-splotched shirt, and Kevin, looking far more respectable than Emily had ever seen him, in a white button-up shirt, and dark vest.
There was someone missing.
It took all her self-control not to laugh when the missing person showed up. Reid’s hair flowed past his shoulders, and he wore a loose-fitting dress. ‘She doesn’t belong,’ he said in an ethereal voice, eyes boring into Emily’s. ‘She never has.’
She was startled for a moment, before remembering that the words came from her own subconscious, rather than from a troubled teen psychic.
Hotch eyed Reid. ‘Is she going to be a problem?’ he asked Kevin, who gave a tiny shrug. ‘I can sedate her if you’d like, but then she won’t be able to save the day with her latent kung fu powers.’
‘Maybe we should sedate him too,’ suggested Morgan, a remark which elicited no support. Sedating the only doctor was never a good idea.
‘No-one is going to be sedated without my say-so,’ Hotch said loudly, taking control of the situation. ‘Wash, get to the bridge, make sure someone’s flying this boat. Kaylee - keep her up in the air. I want everyone else armed, and ready to take out every single gorram Reaver that sets foot on this ship. Are we clear?’
‘I like the kind of enemies we can send away with a well-placed bribe,’ commented Will jovially, to which Hotch replied;
‘Ain’t got the credits for that, Wash.’
There was a brief flurry of movement as Will left for the bridge, and Garcia, the engine room. Emily found the circumstances dubious; there were a multitude of other ways to get out of this situation without fighting, but apparently that wasn’t to the liking of her subconscious. This was the way things were going to go whether she liked it or not.
‘Okay, Simon, does River have any as yet unheard of kung-fu skills?’ Hotch asked Kevin. ‘Because it may come to that.’
‘It’s a distinct possibility,’ replied Kevin fervently. ‘Though it may take a Fruity Oaty Bar commercial.’ He took the weapon Hotch handed him with some hesitation. Emily wasn’t quite sure if he would resort to using it, but then, it didn’t really matter anyway.
Rossi took up the rifle with more experience than was befitting to a man of the cloth.
‘You’re alright with killing Reavers, Shepherd?’ Hotch asked, with some humor in his voice.
Rossi didn’t answer, but instead gave a mysterious smile.
And in the end, none of it really mattered, because as it turned out, Reid did, in fact have hitherto unmentioned kung-fu skills, to the extent where the rest of them found it far more pragmatic to simply sit back and watch.
‘This would have been useful all those other times bad stuff went down,’ commented Hotch. There was a brief murmuring of agreement.
‘Just wish I could have used my grenades,’ said Morgan mournfully. Emily rolled her eyes, hearing JJ mention something about explosive decompression.
‘It’s time to go.’
She looked up, and noticed that Reid was standing right in front of her. He’d killed all the Reavers without even breaking a sweat.
Time to…oh.
Fair enough, then. She closed her eyes.
And the world shifted.