My Star Trek One-Shots

Christopher Pike - Temporal Drift PT 5

Daisy was adjusting to early shifts. The uniform still felt stiff some mornings, like it belonged to someone else. But she'd started pinning her hair up tighter, and she no longer felt like an imposter when she passed other crew in the corridor.

She earned nods from officers now. Respect. La'an didn't treat her like a trainee anymore—just a teammate.

Pike, on the other hand, hadn't stopped looking at her like she was the gravity holding him steady. They kept things quiet. Intentional.

Private breakfasts in his quarters. Glances across the bridge that said I see you, still. A hand on her back when they passed in the hallway, never long enough to raise suspicion, but always long enough to make her heart skip.

She was building something. For real. And just as it started to feel stable—

The universe cracked it open.

They'd docked at K'Var Station, a joint Federation-Klingon outpost established after the tenuous end of the war. Daisy was accompanying La'an on a security rotation through the outer rim, scanning for residual weapon caches from the old conflicts. They were halfway through a sweep when a security officer approached them. Klingon. Female. Tall, scarred, but with something strangely familiar about her eyes.

"You," the woman said, pointing squarely at Daisy.

La'an instinctively stepped forward, blocking her slightly. "Is there a problem?"

The Klingon woman didn't blink. "She is not supposed to be alive."

Daisy froze. "Excuse me?"

The Klingon stepped closer, gaze sharp. "I've studied every record from Earth's 21st century. I know your face."

La'an narrowed her eyes. "How?"

The woman reached into her belt and pulled a thin device—a holoemitter. A projection lit up between them. A photograph. Of Daisy. But aged. Laughing. Holding the hand of a young boy.

The image behind her was of Earth.

"You were my ancestor," the Klingon woman said. "Your name is recorded in the family line of General D'Rann. My grandfather."

Daisy felt her lungs stall. "I never— That's impossible. I didn't—"

"You had children. The boy in this picture? He's my great-great-great grandfather. My family descends from that boy."

La'an stared at the projection. Then at Daisy. "That's . . . not possible. She's been here since before—"

"I know the records," the Klingon interrupted. "They say you disappeared. Presumed dead. But the boy—he lived. Your legacy lived."

Daisy's hands shook. "But I didn't . . . I never had kids."

"Yet you do," the woman said simply. "You just haven't yet."

She brought it to Pike that night. He was reading in bed when she dropped the PADD into his lap with trembling fingers. He scanned it slowly. Quietly. His brow furrowed in thought.

"Is it possible?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

He looked up. "You know the answer. In this time—anything's possible."

"But I didn't—this wasn't supposed to happen."

He reached for her hand. "Then maybe it's not about what was supposed to happen."

She dropped onto the edge of the bed, head in her hands. "Chris . . . if I have descendants, then that means I don't go back. Ever. I stay. I live a life here. I—"