Archive of Our Own ^beta

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“David. I do wish you would stop doing this.” Hal commented for the fourth time in as many hours. If Dave had been more awake, he might have noticed how it was timed.

“Doing what, Hal?” he asked, the same as he had each time before. Hal had a different reason every time, he found out.
David quieted, anticipating Hal’s long spiel about how he should rest, or at least take a break.

“You are going to work yourself to death like this, Dave.” The response caught him off guard. “You know I have everything under control.”

“I know, Hal.”

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Surprisingly, the ‘human’ didn’t seem too harmed by the time Spock finally got him out from where he was trapped.

“Thank you. God, I– I’ve never–” the young man chuckled breathlessly, making Spock pause. This species mustn't care about blasphemy, or the human must still be in a state of shock. The latter, he assumed, because how could someone laugh while in this state? “Never more glad to see another person in my entire life.”

“Ah,” Spock replied, still unsure what to say. He should’ve read up on the protocol. “What is your name?”

“James T. Kirk,” he smiles. “Jim.”

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“Once, there was this new recruit, right? Fresh outta the academy.” McCoy starts, kicking his feet up onto Jim’s couch. “And everyone agreed he had no clue what he was doing.”

“You could say that about any new recruit, Bones.” Jim reasoned.

“Not done,” McCoy smirked. “The kid says he’s especially interested in geology. We test him. Hand him a rock and ask if it could be the cause of some illness. And he bites into the damn thing.”

Jim laughed. “The academy still doesn't teach common sense?”

“Say what you will, but we got a lotta information that day.”

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Truman Burbank was a happy man. So what if it wasn’t real, exactly? Why should that matter?

He had a good job, a good wife, a good house — one he could, by some very un-miraculous miracle, afford.

They’d never let him leave anyway, would they? No. They must, surely, have figured out that he knew by now. Seen him lock eyes with the camera, or force a smile at the new product his wife was parading around. Did they think he didn’t know what a sponsor was?

He could live a lie for a lifetime longer. It would be fine.

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Truman Burbank knew each and every face in town.
He also knew they were all actors, but that was besides the point. That was something he didn’t let himself think about.

The most exciting days of the monotonous, but apparently interesting, life he led was when he would spot someone new.

An extra, but what if they weren’t? What if he could change that for them?
That might be the most control he had.
If he spoke to someone, they might have to stay, to live a part of their life in this sleepy town he’d never gotten to leave.

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Ted and Bill sat around their apartment doing what they did best: listening to music.

“Ted,” Bill said, getting his attention over the music, before leaning his head back to look at his taller counterpart. “What’s your favourite song this week?”

“Hm.” Ted mused, thinking over the question with a depth he failed to bring to any real test. “Right now it’s Fem in a Black Leather Jacket by Pansy Division.”

“Oh.” Bill paused, looking up to judge if his most excellent friend was serious or not. “Cool. Mine’s Pretty Fly for a White Guy by the Offspring.”

“Of course."

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The HAL9000 unit that had been picked to serve aboard the Discovery One was far more human than Dave had anticipated.
The human who had been picked was far more inquisitive than Hal had dreamed.

“I don't know, Hal,” Dave said, the name rolling off his tongue despite only learning its pronunciation that morning. “I can't help but think we're all… kind of in the dark, about how you really work.”

“Does that worry you, Dave?”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But I suppose I’ll have the time to try and figure it out myself now, won’t I?”

“I suppose you shall.”

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Turbo had been the most respected racer in the arcade.

He’d become the most mythologised. Most feared.

That was no concern to him now, while ruling over a kingdom which he had carved into his own paradise.
Maybe he had to break apart this world to do it. Two. But his world was falling too, and he didn’t intend to fall with it. If this is what survival took, then so be it.

He missed the true glory of being known. But this is what had to be done to keep himself from rotting with the rest of his game.

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Oliver was happy with his life.
Not as happy as he’d been with James, but… well, he’d never be again, would he?

He often would look back on the good days, when he was useful, when he was needed.
Sometimes, the thought occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, it would be better to stop his reminiscing.

James would come to get him, though. Eventually.
He just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Some day, he’d be back in his rightful place and everything would be fine again. He just had to wait it out. And he could do that.

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James T. Kirk had always loved space, as long as anyone could remember. Since he’d looked up and seen his first shooting star, even through the smog that plagued this era.

And even if so few had been before, and even if so many had tried and failed: He’d be up there one day.

Humanity had never been this close to the future, close enough to reach out and touch it.
That was Jim’s destiny, although he didn’t believe in such a thing.

Someday, his name would be in the history books. Hopefully, with "first to discover…" right beside it.

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“Why don’t you give up on the band?” was a question Ted “Theodore” Logan got often, mostly from his folks.
Getting it from Elizabeth was a most heinous shock.

“What? Do you… not wanna play anymore?” he’d asked, puppy eyes and all.

“It– it’s not that, Ted,” she’d sighed. “It’s just… we’re broke. You owe your father more money than it seems we’ll ever be able to earn– you had to sell blood, for the lord's sake!”

“I know, Liz.” he shakes off the thought. “But music is a most definite part of me. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

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“Oh, hiya Patrick.” Bobby scrambles not to drop both the phone and the dinner he’d made. “Need something?”

Patrick rambles off something about Mermaid Man, leading to Bobby just mumbling back.

Pat continues as the fry cook tries to balance the receiver of his modified ex-rotary phone (Sandy’s work, of course) and his plate.

The call continues, with difficulty from Bobby's end, before it’s interrupted by a certain cat.

“Gary, I’m on the phone.”

“Meow.”

“I know you want dinner–”

“Meow,” the cat shoots him serious puppy-dog eyes.

He sighs. “Give me a second, Patrick.”

“I don’t own a second.”

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The museum had been open for a very long time.
It hadn’t, however, been very long since the Wild West and the Roman exhibit in the Hall of Miniatures became able to stand each other.

Jedediah and Octavius’s friendship was shaky at best, but they were leaders of their people – they had to show comradeship.

So Jed ignored the odd side glances Octavius would give him, brushing off what he assumed was distrust in favour of keeping the peace.

One day, when he was absolutely certain it wouldn’t split apart their people once again, he would tell Jed the truth.

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“Oh, Claire.” Oliver mumbled, surprised to see the woman at his doorstep. “Do you need my charger?”

“Yeah. I'm going out later, so I won't be able to make the usual time.” She frowned, anticipating his complaint. “Sorry.”

“It’s… fine. I understand.” he nodded, albeit hesitantly, stepping back and allowing her in.

These interactions were always quick, usually ending with Claire going back to her own apartment to charge.

Today, though, she shut the door behind her.

She was going to stay?

He glanced at her as she casually plopped herself onto his practically untouched couch.

Maybe he didn't mind.

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The Hall of Miniatures was, historically speaking, a recent addition to the museum.

Tonight, though, was the anniversary of when it was first put on display – and the night when its inhabitants first got to know… well. Anything, really.

Jedediah was enjoying the celebration Larry organised; he’d always loved a party, and Octavius was–

Where was he?

Gone ‘n’ wandered off again… Jed thought, already trying to track him down.

Octavius was, in fact, busy pacing around and trying extremely hard not to think about their first meeting.

Placed in the same box by accident. Like a sign, wasn’t it?

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“Are you sure this path was a good idea?” Simon questions, trying to keep his grip on the fresh loot. “I mean, this road can twist and turn more than a... Tiefling dance competition!"

Edgin fights to look stoic as the cart almost sends him flying out. “It’s a shortcut.”

“Shortcut, he says.” Forge mumbles. “Do you recall how badly your last ‘shortcut’ turned out?”

“It was fine. Bees never hurt anyone.”
“Incorrect.”

“Anyway!” Edgin tries to get things back on track. “It was a successful day.”

Holga sighs, already bracing for impact.
“Not according to the boulder coming up.”

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“I’m– I'm just over this, Jedediah.” Octavius sighed, exasperated from the long day of arguments.

Jed rubbed the back of his neck, “Look, I know all the fightin’ has got a little extreme, but ya gotta understand why the railroad–”

“No.” The Roman man stopped him short. “You've misunderstood. I'm over… you. This. Constantly bickering.”

“Wh–” Jedediah blinked, thrown off. “You're over me? What in hell's name is that supposed’ta mean?”

“I can't do this anymore. I spend all my time breaking up fights between my Romans and your–” he searched for a collective word. “Cowpeople.”

“How’s that my fault?!”

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“Oh.” Ted greeted, “Hey, duder.”

“Hey.” Bill's voice was weakened, having just gotten up. “It's the middle of the night, dude. Why’re you up?”

“Um. I was just thinkin’ about some stuff, I guess.” Ted mumbled back, avoiding his eyes. “Sorry if I woke you.”

Bill ignored the last part; Ted knew he didn't have to apologise. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “Fine.”
He wasn't. Bill knew that. But he also knew Ted was someone who had to let things settle before he spoke about them. And this seemed like a serious conversation.

“Okay.” Bill nodded, “Wanna watch Star Trek?”

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“What was that?” Jed asked, waiting for Octavius to repeat himself. He coulda sworn the Roman said something almost complimentarily to him. “You’ll have to speak up.”

“I did not say anything.” Octy insisted, formal as ever.

The Westerner raised an eyebrow. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“Yes.” He didn’t let his practised tone of voice slip.

As Jed was about to reply, one of the other Roman soldiers interrupted. “Sirs, please, we do not have time for this.”

“Right. Apologies.” Oct nodded. “I’m here to get a peace deal signed.”

“That why you’re breakin’ out the flattery, then?” Jed mocked.

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It had taken lots of work, and even more luck, but the Wyld Styllins had gotten a most triumphant car!
Well, a van. And not a very good one – but a vehicle nonetheless!

“Ted, isn't it excellent to finally be able to drive around without Missy?”

“Most outstandingly,” Ted nodded, but shot a small glare at Bill. “Eyes on the road, dude, c'mon.”

“Sorry,” the driver quickly corrected himself. “Anyway. We'll finally be able to visit the princesses!”

“And go to gigs,” Ted added.

Bill chuckled, though had to forcibly not look at his counterpart. “If we could get any.”

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The tone beeped.

“Shit, voicemail.” the blonde whispered. “Okay, um–”

He paused, not wanting to be obvious about trying to think up something else to say. “I was thinkin' that maybe you could… give me some tips on getting into character, maybe.”

Not a good lie. But better than what he’d planned to say.
He couldn't say something like that over voicemail. Or even over the phone, really.
Why did he think this was a good idea?

“Anyway. Call me back.”
He hung up.

Oh God.

…Why couldn't he just be normal about this? He didn't even like the guy!

Chapter Text

Bill stared at his roommate as he entered the house. “Why’s your arm covered in paint?”

“Got bored.” Ted shrugged, looking down at his Van Gogh-like blue and yellow arm. “I was working on a sign for the band.”

“Excellent.” Bill nodded, setting the groceries down. “Still. You gonna wash it off? I don’t want paint all over the remote again, dude.”

“Right.” Ted headed for the sink, attempting to remove the paint.

.
.
.
“Uh. Bill.”

“Yeah, Ted?”

“Can you see what the label says?”

The blonde swiftly grabbed the bottle of blue paint.

“May Stain. Avoid contact with unwanted surfaces.”

Chapter Text

“So…?” Octy questioned, waiting for an opinion on the Roman dish.

“It ain't bad.” Jedediah shrugged.

Octavius’s expression faltered slightly.

Jed was quick to clarify, “I was just expectin’ more of a sweet taste, I guess.”

“Right.” he nods. “You can tell me if you don't like it–”

“That's not what I said! It's just… a little weird.” Jed chuckled. “Hell, I can't talk. You've seen what we eat back home.”

Octavius laughed at that. “I suppose you have a point.”

Octy didn't believe Jed's comments about liking the dish until he finished the whole thing in under two minutes.

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Felix learnt about the new game just before the arcade opened for the day.
By the time he'd convinced himself that he'd even be able to talk with Turbo about it, come closing time – it was already too late.

He could tell that the man couldn't be swayed out of whatever he planned to do. Turbo was more jealous and corrupt than ever, but it’d given way to envy. Somehow, that was worse.

Felix anticipated Turbo having some horrible reaction to being upstaged. Though he'd never have thought it'd be something like this.
Worse than the arcade had seen before.

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Bill S. Preston was not looking forward to the summer after senior year.

Not because of something stupid like because he had to work, or start being an “adult” or whatever (though his folks were starting to bug him about that), it was for a much more heinous reason.

It would be his first summer spent without Ted.

Wyld Stallyns had broken up, they’d failed history and just barely been able to graduate.
And Ted was in Alaska.

Ted was gone.

Or that’s what Bill thought.

Apparently, you can flunk military school, too. Or whatever else Ted had somehow managed.

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“It's funny, you know.” Dave says, out of the blue. “I spent my whole life dreaming of a mission like this and now, it's just–” he chuckles softly, while making his first move in their new chess match. “I'm just here. And it's nothing special.”

“Mm.” Hal considers this. It was an odd pause, for him. The black pawn moves to take center. “I suppose you have a point. Even the greatest novelties wear thin eventually.”

Dave thinks about that. Did Hal know boredom? Monotony? Did he understand them?

Perhaps, Dave thinks, that's all he knows.

Their chess match continues.

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Jed remembers the day he met Octavius clearly.

It was a… messy day, to say the least. But, all things considered, it wasn't horrible.
Things had actually gotten off to a nice start, before the fighting started.

One thing he remembers, a bit too distinctly, was this perfect, beautiful moment where everything just felt right. They'd clicked, in a way, and Jed let himself have hope that they could live in peace.
Well, sort of.
The other Romans seemed to really dislike him, but that just– didn't bug him all that much. As long as Octavius didn't feel the same.

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The arcade, largely, had moved on from the “Turbo incident”.

There was still the occasional mumble, or retelling to a new game (which kept getting more and more distorted, Felix noticed.), or the suggestion of someone "going Turbo”.

Still, it wasn't something most people thought about anymore, sparing anniversaries and the like.

Felix, though, found his mind wandering to that day more than he'd ever admit.

Because he thinks he could've changed it.
Maybe, he would constantly think, if I'd said something to him earlier. I was the other most popular character here. He would've listened to me.

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“The drawings are very good, Dave. You've improved since you last showed me.” Dave thought he could almost hear a smile in Hal's voice. Though he knew that was a dumb thought.

“Thank you.” he smiled back, almost making a point of it. The expression dimmed to a confused head tilt as he thought of a follow up question. “Can you not see them when they're in my room?”

“Not clearly.” Hal's answer was simple and blunt, but Dave could pick out something almost annoyed in it.

“Alright.” Dave nods. “Take your pick. I'll stick it up on the wall.”