Notes: Nick Andros--mute Rob Lowe character in The Stand. Sam Seaborn--Rob Lowe character in West Wing. Young Number Two--Rob Lowe character in Austin Powers II: The Spy Who Shagged Me. Alex--golf club murderer Rob Lowe character in Bad Influence. Derek--Jerry O'Connell character in Scream II.

Where the hell is a geographic anomoly when you need one? Any other time I'd have walked into a different climate in the space of a couple of blocks, but since I'm up to my boobs in snow, nooooo...

Scribe continued to break a path through the snow, cursing quietly... Okay, not so quietly. Finally she stopped, glared up at the sky, and bawled, "Look, I've had enough of this cold shit! Get me somewhere warm, and I mean now!"

A voice came down from the sky. "How?"

"Hell, I don't care...."

"MWHHHAAAA HAAAA HAAAAA HAAAA!"

"No! Wait!"

Too late. There was a rumble, and several tons of snow came down from above her. This being fanfiction, instead of being crushed and mangled by the avalance Scribe was just tossed up on top of it and hurtled down the mountain, head over heels, rather like being on a very twisty, very cold, very steep water slide. She ended up buried to her waist--upside down.

After a few moments she managed to dig her way out, spluttering and swearing arcane vengance on The Powers That Be "'cause I know God wouldn't do this to me, so it has to be you creeps!"

Where the pile of snow ended there was concrete--a sidewalk. Scribe looked behind her. No mountain, just the back wall of an alley. She slogged out of the fast melting snow, muttering, "Why do I always end up in alleys?"

She stood on the sidewalk, stripping off the cold weather gear she'd liberated earlier, trying to figure out where the heck in the fanfic universe she was. Lessee... Signs are all in English, that cuts down the possibilities. Cars are driving on the right, that cuts it down even more. They're not driving on the sidewalk, so it isn't Houston or New York...

A hand landed on the back of her neck. "Scribe! You left me stranded!"

"Hi, Fox. You know darn good an well I didn't have a choice in that. I was slung over Gary Hobson's shoulder. So, I'm in D.C., huh?"

"Just behind the J. Edgar Hoover building."

"And what, exactly, are you doing lurking in a back alley?"

"Um..."

"Mulder! Get the fuck back here and finish what you started!"

Scribe peered past Fox. "Do I see the gleam of specs in that doorway back there?"

"Uh..."

"And the gleam of a gloriously bald pate?"

"Er..."

"And a gleam lower down that's..." She blinked. "Good gollywogs! When the fuck did Walter get pierced there? Owie!"

"It's removable, thank God."

The voice floated up again. "Is that Scribe?"

Fox raised his voice. "Yes, sir."

"Bring her back here."

"Bye." Scribe jerked loose and darted out onto the street.

Behind her she heard Walter growl, "Shit! Now we have to chase her! I'd better close the barn door..." *ziiip* "AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH....."

Scribe was scrambling up the front steps to the entrance. "The man does that to his winkie, then yells when he pinches a nip of skin! Sheesh."

There was a security desk in the front lobby, and a man stood up, holding up his hand. "Halt. I'll need to see some ID."

"Boogers! What kind of ID? Donar card? Library Card? DNA?"

"You're Scribe, right? Just show me your tits."

Scribe grabbed the hem of her shirt, then stopped, eyes narrowing. "And just how would you recognize my tits?"

"I can after I've seen them once."

"Put down that damn Polaroid!"

A sexy, but severe looking, brunette in a dark power suit stalked up. "What's going on here?"

The junior agent quickly put down the camera. "I was just about to take this suspicious character into custody, Agent McMahon. If I can get you to watch the security desk for an hour or two, I'll just take her to an interrogation room, and..."

"Are you kidding," said the woman. "The highest credit listing you ever got was Second Agent. You're not about to get your hands on her." She grabbed Scribe's arm in a no-nonsense grip. "Come with me, Miss."

Scribe considered running back outside, but outside she heard Walter calling, "She isn't in that direction! Check over there, and I'll look inside."

"Being as I have no desire to get up close and personal with Skinner's hardware, lead on."

She was hustled into an elevator. The doors slid shut and Scribe studied the woman closely. Finally she said, "Xena?"

"Name's Shannon, cutie."

Scribe squinted at her. "Are you sure you don't have on leather underwear under that suit?"

Shannon gave her a predatory grin. "Oo, I like the way your mind works!" She started crowding Scribe into a corner.

"Oo, um, waitaminute!" Scribe started fending off hands. "Shouldn't we get acquainted first? Have some conversation? Read any good books? Seen any good movies? Didn't I see you wearing blue hair in Spiderman?"

"They're right--you do talk a lot. Good. You should have a lot of tongue agility."

"I really didn't need to hear that!" There was a screeching sound, and the elevator jerked to a halt. "Now we'll have to pull the emergency alarm."

"Why? Trapped in an elevator is one of my favorite fantasies."

There were more screeching noises, and a panel lifted out of the roof. A man peered down at them. "McMahon, what have you been told about hoarding the author?"

Scribe squeaked and quickly slipped behind McMahon. "The T-2000! Quick, shoot! Not that it'll do any good, but maybe I can escape while it's killing you."

"That's not a whatever..." she paused. "Well, maybe it is. That's Agent John Dogget. Buzz off, John."

"Really?" Scribe came out, peering up. "Hey, man. Boy, you get as little respect in X Files slash as Gabrielle does in Xena slash."

"Tell me about it. I'm the Rodney Dangerfield of slash." He extended his hand. "C'mon." Scribe hesitated. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm trying to decide which would be more confining--an elevator with butchwoman here, or an elevator SHAFT with you." McMahon pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Decision made."

She grabbed--he hauled. Shannon got ahold of her foot for a minute, but was left holding a size ten Adidas, and... What? Yeah, I wear shoes that big. If I hear laughter, I'm stopping this puppy right here. *crickets chirp* That's what I thought.

Once she was up in the shaft, Dogget put the panel back in place and rolled a heavy chunk of metal on it. "Where the heck did you get that?"

"The same place all fanfiction characters get all the shit they need at precisely the right moment."

"Ah. Hammerspace. Why are you unzipping?"

"What do you think?"

"I think I should have known better. Are you sureyou aren't the T-2000?"

"Positive."

"Then this should work." She kneed him. "And here we have, once again, that convenient plot device, the ubiquitous air vent." Scribe pulled off the screen and crawled inside. She paused long enough to peer back out at the groaning Dogget. "I'd say ice packs, but..." He groaned. "Check." She disappeared.

It's a damn good thing I'm not claustrophobic. Okay, I'm in the building that houses the X Files. Maybe I can figure out how Mulder has been getting back into my Real Life dimension. Sure, he claims it's uncomfortable and vaguely obscene, but then again so is most of what goes on around here.

She chose a room at random, kicked out the vent grating, and began to back out. Someone grabbed her around the waist. "Crap!" She tried to climb back in, but it was no use--she was dragged out, turned around, and pressed against the wall. "Hi, Scribe."

She blinked at the Rob Lowe clone. "Well, you're not Nick Andros, cause you can talk. No eyepatch, so you're not young Number Two, dammit. I was hoping to run into Scott Evil somewhere along the line. Tell me you're not Alex from Bad Influence, cause I promise you'll I'll take that golf club away from you and stick it..."

"Scribe, think for a minute. What town are you in?"

"Washington, D.C. Oh. Hi, Sam."

"Hi." *snog*

*gasp* "Day-um! That's a hefty lip-lock for a pretty boy! Look, you're in a sensitive government position, so you don't need any sex scandal. Better let me go."

He sighed. "Why the hell couldn't I have been in the Clinton administration? No one would have paid any attention to my peccadillos. You know, I bet I could get a good job in the private sector."

There were noises outside. "Are you sure she's down here?"

*sniffsniffsniff* "I'm positive. The scent is unmistakable."

"Hah!" said Scribe. "That will be Blair and Jim, with Jim doing his Sentinel scenting thing. Better let me go."

"No way. From what I've read in the rest of your serieses and the Swingers stories, they won't have a problem with sharing," said Sam.

*sniffsniffsniff* "She's in here!" *scratchscratch*

"Jim!" Scribe yelled. "Get me out of here and you and Sandburg get one unrestricted night!"

"Hey!" protested Sam. "What the heck is wrong with me?"

"I don't know if you're a Democrat or a Republican, and I'm not taking any chances."

"I offered to do a four way with you and two guys. Does that sound like a Republican?"

The door banged open. A cute, short red-headed guy and a tall, cute brunette guy burst in. The brunette pointed. "Unhand that humpalicious fanfic authoress!"

*blinkblinkblink* "Xander? But... But I thought... If it wasn't Jim Ellison scent tracking me, then who...?"

Xander clapped a hand on the red-headed boy's shoulder. "Oz here has... um... special talents when it comes to scent recognition."

Sam peered at Oz and gaped. "Scott?"

"Not in this incarnation, man," Oz replied. "He was with us, but the last I saw he was dragging a guy with hazel eyes and a big, buff, bald dude back into an alley."

A bunny leaped out of the open vent, landed on Scribe's head, pulled out a few hairs, and hopped away. "Dammit!" Scribe howled. "I'm gonna have Dr. Evil ship Scott to a monastery for a retreat!" Her eyes widened. "No! Wait! Name of the Rose time travel fic!" The plot bunny ran back and bit her again, dodging kicks from Xander and Oz on his way back out.

Oz's eyebrows had somehow managed to meet over his nose. "Be right back," he growled, and chased after the bunny. Everyone else in the room looked at each other. A minute later Oz came back, picking his teeth. "Don't worry about that last one, Scribe."

Scribe frowned. "Squick. Go do a mouthwash commercial before you try to kiss me, kiddo."

Xander said, "As primary drool object of the Proverb series and the one who's managed to knock boots with Scribe the most, I demand that you hand her over."

Sam's grip tightened. "Kiss my ass!"

"No use trying to negotiate!"

"Speak for yourself, dude," said Oz. "He looks pretty good to me."

"Hm." Scribe suddenly rubbed all over Sam.

Sam ended up gasping. "What was that all about, not that I minded?"

"I was transferring pheromones. Ozzie, sniff."

*sniiiiiiiifff* "Ah-rooooooooooooooooooo!"

Sam looked down. "I have a teenager humping my leg."

Xander shrugged. "Not all that exotic an incident in the fanfiction universe."

"Yes, but I find it oddly compelling." *sniiiiiiiiiiiif* "Now he's trying to get his nose in my crotch."

"Yeah, but I can't do it while you've got Scribe in the way," Oz groused.

Sam looked at Oz, then at Scribe. Oz. Scribe. Oz. Scribe. Scribe said, "I'm bound to be back around sooner or later. How often will you come across an X Files/Buffy/West Wing crossover?"

Sam let her go. Xander grabbed Scribe and pulled her away from Sam. "Oz, see ya back in Sunnydale... sooner or later."

*grunt*

"Damn, he's fast. C'mon, Scribe." No reaction. "Scribe?" *staring* *sigh* "Show her slash and she's just like a horse in a fire." He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, tied it around her eyes, and led her out of the room.

"Look, Xander, if you're thinking about recreating that George Michael's 'I Want Your Sex' video, feather boas are okay, but I draw the line at ice cubes."

"I have news for you, Scribe. You don't need the plot bunnies. You can come up with plenty on your own."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to Sunnydale."

"I'm not sure I want to go there."

"I don't blame you much. Buffy's been a real bitch since she guested in the second Scream movie and got her butt kicked." There was a burst of loud music and voices. He unwound the handkerchief. They were in the Bronze. "Want a coke?"

"What? How? Wha..."

"Fanfiction."

"Damn. That was quick, even for fanfiction. Do you have anything stronger?"

"Scribe, we're all supposed to be sorta underage here." She stared at him. "Wine cooler okay?"

"Lemon-lime."

"Check." He disappeared into the crowd.

She sat down at a table to wait. A tall, good looking, dark haired boy came over. "Scribe! It's you!"

"Uh, yes. It is."

"I love you. Be with me."

"Not here. I don't do exhibitionism. Go away."

"I'll win your heart with a sappy, embarrassing gesture." He climbed on the table, stood up, and started singing, "This morning... I woke up with this feeling... I didn't know how to cope with... and so I just decided to myself..."

Scribe clamped her hands over her ears. "Derek! No fair! How the hell did you know?"

"Those David Cassidy posters you had on your wall during junior high. Plus the fact that you named your turtle after him." He continued singing. "I'd hide it from myself, and never talk about it. But didn't I go and shout it when you walked into the room. I think..."

"You're about to get your butt kicked!" Xander, carrying a Bartle's and James was glaring at him. "Scribe, if I catch you stuffing dollars in his pants I'll be seriously upset."

"This isn't a table dance, Xander," Scribe assured him.

Derek jumped down off the table. "Do you mind? I'm trying to woo Scribe."

"What makes you think you can succeed where others have failed? You don't even have an accent or a ponytail."

"That was the last section," Derek scoffed. "And why would you be so successful?"

"I'll show you." He looked at Scribe, and made his eyes big. Scribe drooped and fanned herself. Xander smirked. "Puppy dog eyes. Lethal."

"Yeah? Well, I have something she wants." He reached in his pants.

Scribe shook her head, sitting up straight. "You ain't got anything in there that I haven't seen before, sonny." Derek pulled out a funny looking mechanical device. "Or maybe you have. What the heck is that?"

"An interdimensional transport device for opening wormholes."

Scribe squinted at him. "Quinn Mallory?"

"Present. I hope you know that I ditched the other Sliders to come after you."

"Just as well. I couldn't have dealt with the Professor. Your alternate universe brother, though..."

"The portal's due in three, two, one..."

A swirling vortex appeared at one wall. Quinn grabbed her. "Let's go." He dragged her toward the vortex.

"Hang on! Where does that go? Maybe I should wait around..." Scribe protested.

"There she is!" yelled a voice. "Remember, Angelus, you promised to share."

"Sure, Ripper, you can have the leftovers."

Scribe dived for the vortex, followed quickly by Quinn.

"Damn!" snarled Ripper. "Too late."

"Oh, well," said Angelus. "Harris is still here. Flip you for first turn."

"Wait for baby!" Xander dove through the vortex just as it started to close.

Angelus and Ripper sighed. "What now?" grumbled Ripper.

Angelus shrugged. "We have a nightclub full of extras..."