Title: More Things in Heaven and Earth

Author: Jedi Buttercup

Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Post-series for Buffy, and indeterminate mid-series for old-school Trek

Summary: B:tVS, ST:TOS. Elsewhere in 'Fleet, a security officer surviving eight away missions was merely competent. But on this ship? Well, there was a reason the Captain knew Spike's name. 800 words.

Notes: Yet another silly ficlet for the 2014 August Ficathon, and an FFA prompt.

As far as Spike as concerned, space travel was a godsend for vampires. At least, for one with enough brains or dosh to find a berth on a ship leaving Earth. As long as they weren't headed for another star like Sol, slipping the old surly bonds meant the chance to walk in the sun again without any tricky jewellery quests or fights to the death with Mohra demons.

After his human friends fell one by one to fights with demons or old age, Angel finally fulfilled his prophecy just in time to pop his clogs in the Third World War, and Blue chose to go walkabout in 'more interesting realms' as soon as she got the chance... well, Spike was more than ready for a change. He left the last of his leather dusters on Dawn's grave-- Buffy didn't have one; he'd sifted her ashes into the wind at a dozen different locations as per her last wishes-- and boarded a ship bound for the stars.

Technology had its downsides as well as its up, though; he spent less than a century wandering from red sun to blue to mining colonies adrift in asteroid fields before technology finally caught up to him, making it impossible to hide the lack of pulse and other telltales from any world with half-decent computer-based security. Faced with two equally unpleasant options-- haunting only the grubbiest of unwashed low-tech colonies and never again sunning himself under the dual F-type suns of Risa, or getting caught and making himself a target for any Slayers still around-- he went with his gut, as ever.

He'd heard tell of creatures made all of rock and others of light; and he'd personally shook hands with beings with green blood and pink blood and blue antennae growing out of their skulls. So he had a severe, limited-frequency allergy to light and an apparent lack of circulatory function; there were stranger species out there. As long as he continued to refuse to share a DNA sample, claiming it a violation of his native religious practise, it was as simple as not breathing: he was protected by the Federation's own rules. Even let into one of the off-world Academies, when he eventually got bored with everything else.

The uniform's colour didn't suit him. But synthesised blood tasted nearer the real thing than any of Angel's old animal blood cocktails-- even the otter. And he got all the violence he could handle, following a starship's Captain around.

"Lieutenant Spike," Kirk nodded to him as he stepped into the transporter room, a wry smile tucking in the corner of his mouth. "Good to see you again. We missed you on the last away mission."

Spike snorted, as did the ship's doctor, walking in with the Captain; the Vulcan science offer merely raised an eyebrow as he and two other red-shirted security joined them on the transport pad.

"Couldn't be helped, Captain," he shrugged. "G-type star and all; 'bout eight percent of our galaxy's full of 'em." He'd never been much for the chain of command, but if he thought of Captain as a title, on the order of Slayer-- well, he'd never had any trouble remembering with this particular officer.

It helped that the man's hair was about the shade of Buffy's, when she'd left off dyeing it; and his eyes were an equally familiar shade of changeable green. He had the same arrogance of command as well, though he was more confident in it-- and had the same tendency to both attract and miraculously shrug off trouble everywhere he went.

"Right; I'd forgotten," the Captain replied, idly continuing the conversation as he took a stance on the pad. One area where he didn't remind Spike of her: Kirk was much more skilled at the social aspects of leadership. "That's a very unusual allergy, lieutenant."

"Not that unusual," the doc put in, sounding disgruntled as always. "Some form of solar urticaria affects about three percent of the population back home; the lieutenant's reaction might seem extreme, but it's simply a matter of degree."

Most things were, on Enterprise. Elsewhere in 'Fleet, a security officer surviving eight away missions was merely competent. But on this ship? Well, there was a reason the Captain knew Spike's name.

"Don't suppose you've come up with a full-spectrum sun repellent, yet?" Spike asked as Engineer Scott programmed the coordinates into the console.

"Absent the use of a mirrored shield, it would be impossible to actively repel a frequency of light...." the Vulcan began, bringing back fond memories of another of Spike's ladies.

The smile on the Captain's face widened. "Discuss it with the lieutenant later, Spock. The natives are waiting. Scotty?" he interrupted.

The pad lit up; and Spike's skin tingled as the away team dissolved into light.

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