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Transformations 1

Fandom:  Star Trek:  Voyager/Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover
Rating:  PG
Pairing:  Janeway/vampire!Willow, if you squint
Warnings:  Very oblique femslash, and rampant abuse of the space/time continuum
Spoilers:  This is wildly AU, so any spoilers are purely accidental.
Summary:  Sometimes, a new lease on life comes from an unexpected place.  Granted, the timely intervention of a twenty-fourth century spaceship gives a whole new meaning to the term "unexpected".

Notes:  The "Transformations" series is a set of requested fics I wrote for winners of a name-that-quote contest on my personal blog.  This one's for Moray, whose request was, "I have always wondered what it would be like if Janeway of the Enterprise was forced to enter an alternate Sunnydale and rescue and vampiric Willow from herself."
  That isn't quite how this ended up playing out; it's more of a starting point.


It doesn’t matter how.

It doesn’t matter how a ship without the ability to drag itself from one quadrant of the galaxy to another managed to make the journey, not just through space, but through time.  Call it a singularity, or what you will.  It doesn’t matter how the ship locked onto one particular girl, at one particular moment that happened to be precisely right.  You can call that one fate, if you’re keeping track.

In the twenty-fourth century, vampirism is an identified disease with a readily available cure.  Once again, it doesn’t matter how the cure works, or how it is effected.  (It doesn’t matter what the Federation does to vampires who refuse to be cured, either – and it doesn’t bear looking at too closely.  Rest assured, the measures other races take are worse.*)

What does matter is this:  the girl waking up slowly, blurred and heavy with drugged sleep.  She has been resting in the older woman’s arms, head on her shoulder, mouth an inch away from that graceful neck.  The heightened senses remain – the girl, who at once is and is not Willow, can hear the blood racing under the woman’s skin.  If she flickered her tongue through the air, she could taste it, like a snake.  But the urge to feed is gone.  Willow (yes, we’ll call her Willow) is weak; her whole body feels light, and clean.

Kathryn watches as the girl’s eyes open groggily, and holds her breath for the questions.  She remembers those moments:  the confusion, the rush of loss and relief.  Beneath the high collar of her uniform, Kathryn can feel the old scar – the one that once bore the shape of two fangs, before her own treatment – snag and tug, as if in sympathy with the girl in her arms.

The questions come, but not at first.  Instead, Willow stretches up, and with unerring accuracy, kisses the cloth over Kathryn’s scar.  It is a chaste kiss, thankful.  The girl’s mouth is still cool, but warming moment by moment.

And that is what matters.

 

*  Except for the Cardassians, who give their vampires special military training and then stand well back.  And the Klingons, who, it shouldn’t be surprising, don’t even notice.

 

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August 2012

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