FF Nka Part Seven

["Christeen Demons" <Shyfox30@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Okay, is it just me or is it catch up time...Here's an update to Nka...Now, 
I'll admit I've never written a Star Trek: Voyager story before, so let me 
know if I'm getting the characterizations right.

Disclaimers: Joss owns the Buffy characters...Paramount owns the crew of 
Voyager...the story belongs to me...Enjoy

Subtext: yes, please...B/W; J/7

Summery: In this story, Tara is a borg drone sent through time to capture 
Earth's greatest weapon, which just so happens to be the Slayer, to use 
against Earth. In her efforts to capture the Slayer, Tara has infiltrated 
the group by stealing Willow's heart from the Slayer that loves her. The 
Crew of Voyager has gone back in time to stop the Borg from getting their 
hands on the Slayer. In Chapter Six, After getting drunk, Buffy returns to 
the dorm and tells the red head how she feels about her, and ends up making 
love to her.

In tonight's ep, the crew of Voyager is looking for a more concrete way of 
getting close to the Slayer and her friends.


Chapter Seven
Janeway entered the conference room, cup of hot, black coffee in one hand, 
and greeted the experienced faces of her bridge crew. They had all served 
her well in their own capacities during their time in the Delta Quadrant, 
and she was graced by their prescence here now. The seven faces looked at 
her expectantly as she sat down, and waited as she took a deep breath.

"What do we have?" Janeway asked finally, leveling them all with a level one 
Janeway stare, as she waited for the information they had gleaned from 
Seven?s report earlier.

"Stevenson Hall is a dormitory used by the students who attend the 
University of SunnyDale, California. A school in which it appears your 
Ancestor now attends. The University itself burned to the ground in the year 
2004 under some very strange circumstances. Your Ancestor apparently was 
questioned about the incident, having been found near the place at the time 
it started, but no real cause was ever confirmed. They have seemed to chalk 
it up to faulty wiring, but there was one report filed under the name of one 
Quentin Travers, that claims that Buffy started the fire herself." Seven 
gave the report without any hint of an inflection in her voice, but Captain 
Janeway could sense a mere hint of a wince at the last part. This wasn?t the 
only school the girl had been accused of burning down...it being one of 
several actually.

"Great...my ancestor was a pyromaniac." Janeway said, drolly, hearing a 
small round of chuckles erupt around the table. "Did you find any way to get 
us closer to her without raising suspicions?" Janeway asked, leaning forward 
in her chair, her eyes resting on the impecable form of her lover.

Seven looked extremely uncomfortable. If Janeway didn?t know better she 
would swear the former Borg was squirming in her seat. It was Tom Paris that 
piped up, a charming grin lighting his boyish features. "Well...we did find 
one way, Captain, although I?m not too sure that you?re going to like it." 
Tom cast a mischievous look at Janeway, watching her features to see if she 
was in any way interested in what he had to tell her.

A russet eyebrow rose on her fair brow, as she felt all eyes suddenly 
bearing in on her. She wondered what on Earth they had found, that would 
make her uncomfortable and cause Tom Paris to grin at her like that. "Well, 
spit it out, Lieutenant." She said, finally, growing impatient.

"How do you feel about being a substitute teacher, Captain?"

*****

Captain Katheryn Janeway strode down the long corridors of the Starship 
Voyager, consciously aware of the Lieutenant that dogged her every move. 
"How do you even know that they need substitute teachers?" She asked, 
finally, groaning internally as her logical side finally gave into the 
demands of the mission presented to her.

"I checked it against Earth?s database...apparently one Professor Walsh, 
your Ancestors Psychology teacher, was killed about a month ago in a tragic 
accident. They haven?t found a replacement for her yet. I got you listed in 
as a replacement for her, and Seven in one of the red head?s computer 
courses to keep an eye on her."

"Looks like you?ve taken the decision right out of my hands, Lieutenant." 
Janeway said, a tone of wryness softening the otherwise harsh tone. Tom 
winced as the realization that he had overstepped his bounds kicked him 
upside the head. He had been so eager to see his plan work that he hadn?t 
even waited for Janeway?s go ahead before he had registered the Captain and 
her Astrometrics officer as replacements.

"Yes Ma?am." He replied, his tone far more subdued that it had been a few 
minutes prior to that.

"See that it doesn?t happen again, Lieutenant." Janeway reminded him, the 
tone of command sharp in her voice.

"Yes, Captain." He replied, feeling suddenly like a first year Cadet. 
Janeway stopped in the middle of the corridor, her frost blue eyes starting 
deeply into him, causing him to want to shuffle from foot to foot.

"Dismissed." Tom nodded briefly, still reeling from the edge of steel in his 
Captains voice, then started to walk the other way towards his quarters and 
a much needed glass of replicated whiskey.

Janeway nodded to herself, feeling confident that she had reestablished her 
hold as Captain quite efficiently, and started to walk away, when it occured 
to her that she had no idea what twentieth century women wore. But Tom?s 
fascination with the twentieth century was well known, and she knew he would 
be able to help her.

"Tom." The sound of the Captain?s voice halted the fleeing Paris in his 
tracks, and he turned back to stare at her respectfully.

"Captain?"

Janeway smiled at him, ruefully, wondering how she always managed to get 
herself into positions like this. "It just occured to me...I have no idea 
what a substitute teacher would wear."

A smile lit up Tom?s face, glad to be back in his Captain?s good graces, or 
at least in a position to earn his way back. "Stick with me, Captain. I?ll 
teach you everything I know."

...to be continued.
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