Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of the characters you recognize.

--

Alcohol is nice.

It's also the reason I'm in this mess in the first place. And yeah, I know it's not really his fault, but… well, since the universe seems to be playing a massive, horrible joke on me, I might as well blame someone. And he's convenient.

He's the one who convinced me I needed to come to this really awesome party, no really, you'll love it and I ended up driving to some guy's apartment while he and my roommate followed behind.

And then there was a flash and a quake and… yeah. And now I'm here. And they're not. I don't know if they stopped after I went through… whatever it was, or if they ended up somewhere else, or if something entirely different happened to them, but they aren't here.

Downing drinks in a bar, some two hundred years in the future.

If it weren't for him, I'd be drinking in a club in the twenty-first century. I'd be with my friends, and we'd be happy. Or, at least, as happy as our dysfunction ever is.

I suppose they're dead now.

The thought isn't as horrifying as it should be.

It's probably the alcohol.

--

I'm not delusional, and I'm not hallucinating. I'm not dreaming, and I haven't gone crazy.

I know what all of that is like, and believe me, this is so far from mental breakdown… I don't even know. But it's real. This is my reality.

It hasn't sunk in yet.

--

I have money.

Well, sort of. It's kind of obsolete here, apparently, and something about betterment of humanity… but I had a lot of crap in my car.

They're considered artifacts now. From what I can gather, there was this nuclear war, and very little is left from before then. Which means empty rum bottles and various books and whatever else happened to be in my car… it's all worth a lot.

Most of it's in museums now. I kept the stuff I wanted, sold the really pointless crap, and told them under no circumstances was I leaving my car.

On the plus side, I have money.

And drinks are always free.

--

"You're here alone?"

He's cute, if a little blurry in the dark haze of the bar. He's also slightly drunk. And he's probably hitting on me.

If they were here, my roommate would kick his ass, and her boyfriend would haul me back to his car.

They're not here.

"Yeah."

"Name's Jim Kirk."

His eyes are really blue. Like hers. And he's smirking, not unlike him. And he's probably experienced.

"Susan," I tell him.

"I know. They let you out of your cage, then?"

I attempt to stare at him. It's not easy. He keeps moving.

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been all over the news. It's all anyone talks about. The little girl who punched through time in a car."

"Yeah. They let me out." I finish off my drink and wave the empty glass at the bartender.

"What's it like?"

I laugh. "Don't you think that's a bit… inappropriate? Invasive?"

"Not really."

"Right then." The bartender refills my glass. I take a long drink.

"So?"

"Loads of fun."

And it is. Today, I learned my brother ended up in jail on drug charges, and I can't help thinking it's my fault.

"Look, it's been fun, but I need to sober up before they start prodding me again tomorrow." I put down my glass.

"What, you're going to wander through an unfamiliar city, drunk, by yourself?"

"Was thinking more along the lines of passing out in a gutter."

He laughs. "Where are you staying?"

"No idea."

"Then… I don't know… you can stay with me. I'm not about to explain why I let Starfleet's prized guinea pig get herself attacked in the street. My roommate won't mind if you pass out on the floor." He pauses. "At least, I think he won't mind."

--

For the record, his roommate does mind. A lot. And doesn't take too kindly to random time travelers passed out on his floor. Still, I guess it's better than a gutter. But only just.