My Star Trek One-Shots

Christopher Pike - Through Time

Bentley "Bennie" Terec was not exactly what you'd call a scientist. She worked in digital marketing, dabbled in cosplay, and had a modest following on TikTok where she posted Star Trek fan edits and reaction videos to Strange New Worlds. She had a beloved cat named Sulu, a coffee addiction, and a well-worn Captain Pike Funko Pop on her bookshelf.

The last thing she expected was to be living the show.

It started with a freak lightning storm. A Comic-Con malfunction, a transporter display gone haywire, a flash of white, and then—

"Who the hell is she?" a security officer asked.

She blinked at the gray and gold Starfleet uniforms around her. Her brain scrambled to place herself as the weight of nausea and adrenaline rolled through her.

This wasn't cosplay. This wasn't a dream.

She was on the USS Enterprise.

In real time.

Real life.

They brought her to the ready room. She knew where she was without needing to be told—modern, mid-century flair, a touch of green glass and dark woods. It was perfect.

And then he walked in.

Captain Christopher Pike.

Bennie's brain short-circuited.

The hair. The jaw. The uniform. The concerned, commanding gaze.

The moment he made eye contact with her, her mouth betrayed her.

"Daddy—sorry. Daddy. Sorry. Daddy, sorry."

She slapped a hand over her face in horror.

There was a beat of silence. Pike's eyebrows rose. Then one side of his mouth twitched upward.

"I'm guessing . . . that's some kind of expression from wherever you're from?"

Bennie's cheeks burned like warp core plasma. "It's—yeah, sorry. I just—I saw you and my brain panicked and said the first stupid TikTok meme it could remember."

Pike folded his arms, amused. "TikTok. I'm going to assume that's not a Federation ship."

"No, uh, it's—it's from my century," she said, still flustered. "I'm from 2025. Earth."

Pike leaned against his desk. "Time traveler, huh? That's a new one. We've had a few, but they usually arrive with more . . . decorum."

She tried not to look at the curl of his hair or the way he filled out the shoulders of his uniform.

"I think I was at a Star Trek convention," she said, dazed. "And then something happened, and now I'm here. But I—I swear to you, I'm not here to mess with time. I won't say anything."

Pike narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, 'say anything'?"

"I mean I—" She froze. "Nothing. Never mind. I said I wouldn't."

The silence between them stretched. He studied her—really studied her—the way a good commander would. It made her feel like he could see more than her awkwardness. That he could see how badly she wanted to do the right thing.

"Alright, Bennie," he said finally. "For now, you'll stay on the ship. We'll work on getting you home. But if you know something about the future—anything—you keep it to yourself. That includes TikTok memes."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." His expression softened. "Now, why don't you tell me about 2025. What's your world like?"

And so it began.

Bennie stayed aboard the Enterprise for what should have been a few days—but stretched into weeks. The crew was cautious with her at first, but Bennie's heart was big, her humor infectious, and her curiosity boundless.

She bonded quickly with Ortegas, gushed over Uhura's brilliance, and cooked 21st-century comfort food in the mess hall when morale was low.

But it was with Pike that something else bloomed.

It began with casual conversations—him asking about Earth's past, her asking about the Federation's ideals. Then quiet dinners, then late-night strolls through the observation deck. He found her quirky references baffling but endearing. She found his steadiness addictive.

There was always a line, though. He was her captain, and she was a temporal anomaly.

And she knew his fate.

She'd seen Strange New Worlds. She knew about the accident that would come. The disfigurement. The chair. The sacrifice.

And she said nothing.

Not when they sat shoulder to shoulder watching stars streak past the hull. Not when he let his hand brush hers as they passed in the corridor. Not even when he asked softly, one night:

"Do you believe people can find each other, no matter the time or place?"

Her breath caught. "I do. But sometimes we find each other just to say goodbye."

He studied her, brow furrowed with unspoken questions. But he didn't push. Not that night.

Weeks turned to months.

They never crossed the line. But everything between them hummed with possibility. The kind that made her chest ache.

And then the science team discovered a way to send her back.

She was in the transporter room, heart pounding, Pike standing just behind her. No one else was there. He'd made sure of it.

"You sure you want to go back?" he asked quietly.

"I have to," she said. "My time. My world. I don't belong here."

"You could. If you wanted."

God, he made it hard.

She turned to him, blinking back the tears. "If I stayed, I'd try to change what happens. I couldn't stop myself. And that would ruin everything you stand for."

He knew what she meant. She saw it in his eyes.

"You're not supposed to know," he said quietly.

"I do."

Neither of them said goodbye. Instead, she kissed him—just once. Slow. Sad. Grateful.

And then she was gone.

Bennie woke up on the concrete floor of a convention center bathroom. A small crowd had gathered around her.

Everything was exactly the way it had been.

Except for the weight in her heart.

She never posted about what happened. Never told a soul.

But once a year, on a quiet night, she'd pour a glass of whiskey and whisper, "Thank you, Captain."

And across time and space, a man with gray streaks in his hair and a knowing smile would sometimes pause by the observation window of the Enterprise, gazing at the stars, remembering the woman from another world who called him Daddy—sorry.