Badfic!Pete's Outer Space Adventure

by Spiletta42

Badfic Pete's Outer Space Adventure by Spiletta42


Rating: T™©

fiction rated T

printer friendly formatting embedded, click to print

Warnings: Over-the-top sexist behavior from the title character.

Categories: Ship, Het, Humor, Parody

Pairings: EMH/7 (primary), also Paris/Torres, Daniel/Vala, Sam/Jack

Characters: Seven of Nine (primary), Pete Shanahan (badfic version), Vala Mal Doran, Tom Paris, the EMH, B'Elanna Torres, Daniel Jackson, Sam Carter, Jack O'Neill

Spoilers: Star Trek Voyager: Someone to Watch Over Me and Human Error

A/N: Creating a plausible Star Trek Voyager/Stargate SG-1 crossover seemed impossible, so naturally I gave it a try. Don't take this one too seriously, folks. Dedicated to those who thought that Badfic!Pete and the Temple of Doom and Badfic!Pete Meets the FBI weren't enough. Keep your drink away from your keyboard, this one goes places.

Credits: Beta credits go to Anne Rose and Q. Thank you. As for the screencap in the title graphic, the blame is entirely my own. My apologies to David DeLuise. Research credits include the Voyager Companion by Paul Ruditis.

Disclaimer: I like to steal toys. The vault at Paramount, frequently the scene of such crimes, is now the property of CBS Studios, Inc. The Stargate elements belong to MGM.

Badfic!Pete's Outer Space Adventure

Lieutenant Tom Paris listened to the Doc complain about Seven of Nine's recent holodating. This particular tirade had been going on for a while. It had covered all of the most salient points three times each, with a foray into the dangers of neglecting one's singing voice, an argument which Tom considered dubious at best.

Of course the Doc vehemently denied that he was complaining. Or jealous. He used the word 'concerned' frequently, and implied -- okay, stated outright, with only the tiniest pretense of implication -- that Seven's choice of companionship would lead to a lifetime of misery if she continued down this particular path.

Maybe asking the Doc about the rumors hadn't been such a hot idea after all.

But Tom had just been so darn bored.

"Not that I'm complaining," the Doctor repeated yet again. "She has every right to develop a romantic interest in anyone she chooses, and I'm happy that she feels emotionally ready for this step, but did she just pick him at random? Him? They have nothing in common. He could never make her happy. It could never lead anywhere."

"That's why she chose him," Tom said. "She doesn't want it to lead anywhere. Seven likes to control things, and I'm guessing that goes for her emotions, too. Falling in love would mess up her plans for a trouble-free romantic experiment."

"Trouble free?" He gave the ceiling a look that clearly blamed it for his extreme exasperation, and flung his hands in the air. "Romance shouldn't be predictable!"

"I've got to agree with you there, Doc." An idea began to form in Tom's mind. A really bad idea, probably, but those were his favorite kind.


Seven of Nine finished her shift, changed into her best civilian dress, and headed straight for holodeck two. Over the course of her duty shift, she had composed several new exercises in small talk, and this evening she planned to test the Chakotay hologram's response to them. She considered the progression of her experiment to be quite satisfactory.

Her mastery of romance marked an important step in her development. Soon she would possess all of the skills necessary to advance to the real thing, and without all that inefficient bickering and uncertainty that seemed to plague the rest of the crew.

When she arrived, she found a program already running, and Lieutenant Paris tending bar in Sandrine's. "Seven! Meeting someone special tonight?"

She eyed the pilot with cool patience. Perhaps her experiments might provide enlightenment as to precisely why Lieutenant Torres, an admirably efficient and intelligent engineer, found him so alluring. Seven thought that B'Elanna might have preferred a more predictable mate, like perhaps Vorik or Mortimer Harren, both of whom seemed far less likely to run afoul of her Klingon temper.

Paris frowned, which reminded Seven that she had yet to reply to his inquiry.

"Oh right," he said. "You wouldn't be meeting anyone. You never date. I guess you can take the girl out of the Collective, but -- " He froze, half way through wiping the glass in his hand. "Sorry, Seven, that was rude, I didn't mean -- of course you're no longer Borg, it's just that you've grown so much, and I for one think it's a shame that you don't date."

Seven found herself caught off guard. Paris lacked intellectual depth and maturity, but he'd never been rude to her, and most members of the crew had stopped commenting on her Borg past long ago.

Something brushed against Seven's arm, and she turned to confront the individual regarding their carelessness.

"Excuse me." The individual now touching Seven's arm in an unexpected gesture of familiarity was a woman dressed in black, with a leather jacket and pigtails. She smiled. "I'm Vala."

Seven discovered that her hand was in the process of being shaken. "Seven of Nine," she said, and considered adding the rest of her Borg designation, because it would give her something more to say, but this Vala was now touching her shoulder and leaning closer.

"I'm wondering if you could do me a favor." Vala nodded towards a table across the room. "You see, that's my friend over there, and her date is running just a teensy bit late, which wouldn't be a problem at all, except that her ex-boyfriend just walked in, and if he notices her . . . well let's just say that's best avoided."

"Would you like me to remove him?"

"Oh no, nothing like that. I was hoping you'd distract him. I mean, unless you're meeting someone?"

Seven stared at the woman, puzzled as to why anyone, much less a holographic character, would ask her for such a favor. "Distract him how?"

The woman shrugged, smiling. "Just have a few drinks with him."

"Do you intend for me to date this individual?"

"Yes, like a date, perfect." The woman nudged her in the man's direction. "Who knows, you might hit it off. And thank you, I really appreciate this."

Seven had not actually agreed to this arrangement, but her own plans were curtailed until the holodeck became available, which seemed unlikely as members of the crew claimed tables and ordered rounds. At least she could use this development to salvage her evening, since it would provide the opportunity to fine tune her small talk. She smiled and employed the appropriate phrase. "It will be my pleasure."

With that, the woman strolled back to her table, winking at Tom Paris when she caught him appreciating her outfit.

Seven ignored Paris, and headed for the stranger's table.


Tom cheered silently as his plan cleared the first major hurdle. Of course Seven could still bolt, but with just a little bit of luck -- ah, perfect. Lieutenant Chapman arrived right on time, and Lyssa Campbell led him straight to the table next to the one Seven now approached.


Tom hoped that Seven's desire to flee from her impromptu date would be offset by the presence of an ex -- or the nearest thing Seven had to an ex, anyway -- at the next table. People never liked to look bad in front of an ex, and even Seven couldn't be immune to that, so hopefully as long as Chapman stayed put, Seven would tough it out. Tom had complete faith in Lyssa's ability to improvise, if necessary, so Chapman was firmly installed for the evening.

And then Tom had his ace in the hole, in the form of the Vala Mal Doran and her friends, currently laughing around the table in the corner. Now he just had to relax until the Doc arrived.


"I am Seven of Nine." Seven thrust her hand out to the stranger. "May I purchase a beverage for you?"

She realized immediately that she had erred with the abrupt nature of her greeting, but the stranger did not seem to mind.

"Hi Susan!" He grabbed her hand with both of his damp, clammy ones. "I'm Pete!"

"It's Seven." She made an effort to keep from scowling at the man. "Seven of Nine."

Pete just smiled at her and entirely failed to make eye contact.

At a loss as to the appropriate course of action, Seven pulled out a chair and sat down. "Do you require a liquid -- a beverage at this time?"

He nodded his head with vigor. "I like Pepsi!"

Seven turned to signal the barkeeper, was relieved to see that Paris had turned the post over to one of the holographic characters, and was displeased to notice Lieutenant Chapman and his date at the next table. The memory of their abortive social encounter made her uncomfortable in a way she failed to understand.

Her attention returned to her companion when she realized that he'd spoken. "Pardon me?"

"What's your favorite show?" He stared at her expectantly for a moment before his eyes wandered to her chest and he giggled.

"Show?" This was a line of small talk she had not studied, and her discomfort was increased by the way he failed to make eye contact. She found it unpleasant to be ogled in such a manner.

"Mine is Cleopatra 2525. The babes are hot and they fight robots!" Pete's face contorted and his body began to convulse.

Alarmed, Seven reached for her combadge to summon the Doctor. Then she realized Pete was grinning again, and that his behavior, however odd, had been voluntary and not the result of a seizure.

"Cool, huh?" He giggled. "And then this other time -- "

Sandrine arrived with the drinks, cutting short another inaccurate demonstration of robot fighting prowess. Pete stopped mid-sentence to snatch the carbonated beverage from Sandrine, and began to slurp noisily.

Seven decided to employ some of the small talk she'd prepared in advance. "I recently read Dante's Inferno and -- "

"Books are stupid."

Seven considered abandoning this exercise, but that would mean admitting to failure while sitting mere feet from Lieutenant Chapman, a scenario she hoped to avoid. She decided to ignore her companion's rudeness, at least for now, and she watched him slurp at his beverage. "What activities do you pursue in your leisure time?"

"Do you like hot sauce? We should get some tacos!"

Seven raised an eyebrow. Perhaps the holodeck was malfunctioning in some way, preventing the character from responding to her inquiries in a logical manner.

"Miss! Miss! Hey! Over here! Miss!" Pete stood up and waved his arms in the air.

Seven stared at him. Was she expected to make him cease this behavior?

Sandrine returned to the table, her manner unhurried. "Does Monsieur require another refreshment?"

"We want tacos!"

"Is Monsieur aware that he is in Marseille?"

"With lots of hot sauce!" Pete nodded with vigor. "And sour cream!"

Sandrine retreated, and Seven did not expect to see her again.


Tom watched Sandrine walk away from Seven and her date, and realized that some smoothing of ruffled feathers was in order. "I think I just detected a flaw in my plan," he said to his companions. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, Sandrine is about to have Pete thrown out."

"Yeah," said Daniel Jackson. "That's a pretty common reaction. Most people find they can't tolerate him for very long."

"Or at all," Jack O'Neill muttered.

Samantha Carter stared at the ceiling and mumbled something inaudible.

"I think the word you're after is denial," Daniel said. "And an extreme case of it, at that."

Sandrine's hand landed on the telephone.

"We have to do something," Tom hissed under his breath.

"Leave it to me." Vala winked and stood up.

"What are you going to do?" Daniel asked.

"Well obviously I'm going to lie to her, darling. Don't worry, it'll only take a minute."

Tom watched tensely as Vala sauntered across the room and caught Sandrine's arm. The two women whispered for a moment, and Sandrine nodded. Then Vala returned to the table, smiling.

"What did you tell her?"

"I simply explained that Pete took a bullet to the head a while back, and that he sometimes forgets where he is, but that of course we should be patient with him, since he is a hero after all."

"Hero?" Daniel said. "I usually go with -- "

"Yes, darling, I've heard your frozen caveman story. It's really rather hard to believe, though, don't you think?"

"It's a lot more plausible than Pete the hero," Jack said. "And if he gets wind of that story, we'll all be sorry, because he'll start showing off his scar again."

"Scar?" Vala asked.

Sam groaned and buried her face in her hands. Daniel and Jack just snickered.


Seven, completely at a loss as to how to proceed, once again tried some of her prepared small talk, despite the fact that this particular line of discussion was more appropriately directed at her original choice of companion, who happened to be a trained anthropologist. "If one believes the theory that the first primate to use fire was Homo Erectus, then how does one explain findings . . . "

Pete giggled. "You said erectus!"

Again Seven found herself without a response, but fortunately Sandrine did return, carrying a platter of Mexican cuisine. "I hope this is warm enough," Sandrine said. "It's not on the menu, so I was forced to make special arrangements."

"Tacos!" Pete practically bounced out of his seat.

"It's not often we have the opportunity to serve a hero." Sandrine smiled at Pete. "You must be very brave."

"I caught a mugger!" Pete announced. "I even have a scar!"

Seven stared in horror as Pete yanked his shirt up over his head, exposing his poorly conditioned physique to most of the bar. He pointed to the most striking example of poor muscle tone. "See? Seven stitches! Can you believe it?"

Sandrine nodded politely and complimented the scar, which puzzled Seven, who failed to see a scar, and had thought that perhaps it might be acceptable to correct Pete on his odd behavior at this juncture. Certainly exposing one's body in a public setting fell outside standard social mores.

Pete seized one of the tacos and began to munch on it. The shell broke, sending shredded lettuce and cheese in all directions. "It needs hot sauce." He pawed at random objects on the table, oblivious to the sour cream all over his nose and chin, and when he failed to find the desired condiment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fist-full of small packets.

"I always carry some," he said. "Just in case."

"How sensible of you," Seven said doubtfully.

Pete fumbled with one of the packets, and a stream of bright red sauce squirted upward from it, striking the ceiling and splattering several of Sandrine's patrons. Pete giggled madly. "Did you see that? It hit the ceiling! Can you believe it?"

Seven noticed Lieutenant Chapman mopping hot sauce from his face with a cloth napkin, while Ensign Campbell fussed over him and assured him that the damage to his uniform was minimal.

In the meantime, Pete tore open a second packet, this time squirting sauce across the table. He then proceeded to eat, completely ignoring Seven's efforts to prevent the sauce from staining one of her few civilian outfits.

"This encounter has reached its conclusion," she informed him. She started to stand.

"Susan!" A stubby-fingered, taco-sauce-covered hand grabbed her arm.

"Remove your hand or I will remove it for you."

"I want to dance!"

Seven pried the sticky, slippery fingers from her arm and the cretin responded by grabbing her dress as he continued his whining. She removed his fingers from that as well, and when he made yet another clumsy grab for her, she wrenched his arm.

The man collapsed in a heap on the floor and began wailing like a child. Seven had never seen a Starfleet officer respond to an injury with such hysterics. Alarmed, she looked around for help.

Sandrine raced out from behind the bar and dropped down beside the howling man. "How could you? This man is a hero, and instead of treating him with kindness you cause him injury?"

In desperation, Seven tried to delete the characters from the scenario, but the computer denied her request. She looked for Lieutenant Paris, caught him laughing with two strange men and the woman in black whom she'd met earlier, and realized she'd been made the butt of a joke.

She glared at Paris, who pretended not to notice as he leaned across the table to whisper something to his new friends. Her social lessons had not covered this possibility, and she found it quite disconcerting.

The door opened to admit yet more crewmembers to witness her humiliation, and Seven turned away from Pete to make her escape.

"Seven?" The Doctor appeared by her side, his hand gently cupping her elbow as he studied her face with concern. "What happened?"

"This individual is injured." She indicated Pete, who was still howling in agony despite being tended to by Sandrine.

The Doctor looked puzzled, but consulted his medical tricorder. "He's a hologram, and a perfectly healthy one at that. Now -- "

Pete howled and pointed at Seven. "You owe me an apology, Susan!"

"Who's Susan?"

"He has had some difficulty learning my name," Seven said. "I believe that Mr. Paris altered his programming -- "

"Are you trying to steal my girl?" Pete climbed awkwardly to his feet and shook a taco-sauce-stained fist at the Doctor. He still had sour cream on his face.

"Your girl?" The Doctor stared at the spectacle before him.

The spectacle stamped its foot. "Susan is my girl! Mine!"

"Yes, well, if I see her around anywhere, I'll be sure to send her your way." The Doctor smiled at Seven. "Shall we?"

Pete lunged forward, fist-first, and fell straight through the Doctor to sprawl across the floor. Several crewmembers applauded.

The Doctor shifted his matrix back to its solid state. "Would you care to dance?"

"It would be my pleasure."

Together they made their way onto the dance floor, and Seven found herself smiling.

"It looks like Mr. Paris is about to regret his joke." The Doctor nodded back towards Pete, who was now on his back kicking his feet like an enraged toddler.

The sight of Paris hopping around avoiding Pete's thrashing legs as he tried to persuade the man to get up and leave improved Seven's mood considerably. Paris yelped as Pete managed to kick him in the shin.

"Poetic justice," the Doctor said.

"Indeed." The piano player moved on to the next piece, and Seven turned away from the chaos to smile at the Doctor as she recognized the tune. "They are playing our song."


Tom circled the overgrown toddler he had created, looking for an opening. He'd never realized just how effective a temper-tantrum could be as a defensive posture. He looked to his new friends for help, and Vala strolled over to stare down at the man on the floor.

"Sam told me her ex was immature, but I never imagined this."

"This?" Daniel joined them. "This is nothing. You should have seen what he did after Sam dumped him. Teal'c had to -- "

Pete bellowed and rolled to his feet, fists swinging wildly in Daniel's general direction. Vala punched him in the jaw, and he crumpled, silent at last.

"Much better." Vala smiled at Daniel. "Now, darling, I believe you promised me dancing?"

Tom watched the couple move off to set a good example for Seven and the Doc. As bad ideas went, this one had gone perfectly, because to Tom's immense satisfaction, it looked like the example just might prove unnecessary. He grinned as Seven and the Doc shared a kiss, right there on the dance floor. Obviously they no longer required his services, which worked out well, because he'd much rather spend the rest of his evening with B'Elanna and --

The subject of his thoughts walked through Sandrine's front door and fixed her gaze on him. "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

"Probably because you asked the computer before making the trip." This was exactly the sort of comment that tended to ignite B'Elanna's Klingon temper, which seemed like a pretty bad idea, but Tom was willing to chance it, because it really turned him on when she got that look in her eyes.

That look, right there. "You have a smart mouth, Paris."

He grinned and wrapped his arms around her. "That's why you love me."

She started to stretch up to kiss him, but paused to stare at the dance floor. "Did you have something to do with that?"

He followed her gaze to the happy couple. "Yep."

She smiled. "Now that's why I love you."

Tom laughed and kissed her. He really did love it when bad ideas paid off.

This transformative work constitutes a fair use of any copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. Star Trek™©, Star Trek: The Next Generation™©, Star Trek Voyager™©, and related properties were created as the property of Paramount Pictures and now belong to CBS Studios, Inc. Stargate SG-1™©, Pete Shanahan, and related properties are the legal property of MGM. No copyright infringement intended. No profits made here. © Spiletta42, May 2007.