A/N: Hey peoples! So, remember that writing binge I promised? It's been happening. I just don't like posting fics till they're done. I have one that's very intense and long and almost done. It'll be started as soon as I finish posting this one. This one requires a bit of an explanation. I had a conversation with my (awesome!) friend Shelby and I were speculating on whether or not Kirk and Neal would get along. This is what resulted. It isn't meant to be taken seriously at all, it's just for a laugh and to get those two characters together. Also, it's posted here because it is largely Neal-centric. So. Flame if you want, or just read and enjoy. :)

The first thing Neal was aware of was was a strange silence. Like someone had shoved earplugs in his ears without him noticing. The second was that the ground he was laying on was very uncomfortable.

He opened his eyes and blinked, then blinked again in the dim light. This wasn't June's apartment. Nor was it the FBI offices, and those were the only two places he'd been that day. So where was he? Feeling his pockets to make sure he hadn't been muggedor something, Neal stood up and promptly banged his head on a low-hanging metal bar.

"Ouch!" The sound of his head hitting the bar and his voice echoed eerily through the large room he'd found himself in. It was a very odd room, full of very odd things. He looked around and picked a few up, but nothing looked at all familiar.

"Hm..." Neal walked toward what appeared to be a door without a handle. Maybe he'd been kidnapped? This could be some sort of bizarre abandoned warehouse. He leaned against the wall next to the door, preparing to have to pick the lock when it inexplicably opened of its own accord.

That was strange. He wouldn't have thought a warehouse would have automatic doors.

Light flooded through the open doors, sort of blinding after the dim room. Neal frowned at the strange architecture surrounding him. All smooth silver and flat carpeting and flashing blue lights. It was vaguely familiar in a way he couldn't yet place.

With great curiosity, Neal stepped forward. No alarms were triggered. Yet. The ex-con was silent as he walked down a quiet, curving hallway. No one appeared to be present besides himself. He saw plenty of closed doors but didn't really feel good about exploring them.

Suddenly, the calm blue lights started to flash red, and loud alarm bells sounded. Intruder alert was the first thing that flashed to Neal's mind as he pressed a button next to the nearest door to hide inside. Instead of a room, like he expected, it led to another corridor with the same flashing red lights. He heard footsteps outside the door he'd just come through and started to run again, looking for a door. He opened the first one he saw and darted inside. It closed behind him. Oops. He was in some sort of futuristic elevator. That in itself wasn't the problem.

The problem was the four red-clad men that were in the elevator with him. They were tall, intimidating, and looked less than pleased as they pulled out weapons and pointed them at him. With a quick, charming smile, he raised his hands in front of him. His eyes settled on the emblems their uniforms bore and with a flash he realized where he'd seen the corridor styles before.

Well this is weird. He started to look around the lift. Was he dealing with some sort of fanatic club or was it a dream?

"Don't move," one man said threateningly.

"Okay," Neal said, holding still obligingly. Best to make them think he was no trouble. Then they'd let their guard down.

The lift started to move upward and Neal gave the first guard a questioning look.

"Where are we, exactly?"

"Don't play dumb with me," he said. "You know perfectly well where you are." Neal resisted the urge to roll his eyes. These tough guy types were all the same.

The lift stopped and the men filed out carefully, with one on either side of him. Neal mentally cursed. They knew what they were doing. Well, there was always the distraction technique.

He waited until they were half-way down the hall before he tried it. He glanced boredly at the ceiling and stopped, affecting a horrified expression.

"What is that thing?" He asked, a note of fear creeping into his voice. It worked. All four men looked up, pointing their weapons (phasers?) at the ceiling instead. He slipped under the arms of two of them and was around the corner before they could fire.

"Stop right now!" The bearded one commanded. Yeah, like that line ever worked. Neal ducked into the first door he saw and continued through a maze of doors until he was sure he'd lost them.

Unfortunately, he also lost himself. Neal walked more slowly through an abandoned hallway, trying to block out the continuing alarms as he attempted to discover which way was out.

"There he is!" A new team of security guards came through a door. Apparently these ones weren't taking any chances; they fired at him with a stream of red light before he got more than a few feet away. Energy stung his right side and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

xxxxx

"So," a young voice drawled. "You're the one that's been causing all the trouble." Neal sat up slowly, wincing. He found himself unhappily contained in a small cell, seated on a cot.

"It was unintentional," Neal said quickly, examining his captor. The man looked to be in his mid-twenties, with dark blonde hair and flashing, amused blue-green eyes.

"That's what they all say," the man said. He was dressed in a yellow shirt and black slacks, his shirt bearing the same emblems as the guards'. "I don't know where you came from, but if you were trying to blend in, your fashion information was a little out of date." Neal glanced down at his black suit and back up.

"It's a classic," he said defensively.

"Sure." The man raised an eyebrow. "So what's your name?"

"What's yours?" Neal countered. The man looked genuinely surprised at the return question.

"Kirk. James T. Kirk." The man shrugged. "I'd've thought you'd have known that, having gone through the trouble to get aboard and all."

Neal gave the man a skeptical look. "James T. Kirk. Really?"

"Last time I checked," he said with a grin. "Captain Kirk, as of recently. Really, you didn't already know this?" Kirk eyed him curiously. Neal mentally slapped his forehead. This was either his strangest dream ever, or a very enthusiastic bunch of fans.

When he didn't respond immediately, Kirk raised his eyebrows. "So. I told you my name. Your turn. Who are you and why are you on my ship?"

"Neal Caffrey," Neal said. "And I didn't even know I was on a ship."

Kirk shrugged. "If you don't want to tell me..."

"I mean it," Neal insisted. "I don't even remember getting here. Last I recall, I was in New York."

"New York." Kirk gave him a strange look. "Well, I think you're either a very bad liar, or very confused."

Neal crossed his arms and regarded the man. "It's neither."

"If you say so," Kirk said with a shrug. "I'll be back later, Mr. Caffrey. I'd suggest you try to rethink your story."

"It's not a story," Neal called after the Captain as he left. He sat back down on the cot briefly. "I'm not the one stuck in a permanent roleplay," he muttered. He stood back up and moved toward the bars, intending to stick his hand through to examine the lock, but as it connected with the air between the bars a red force field (for lack of a better term) appeared, zapping it back painfully.

Holding the stinging hand to his chest, Neal sat down on the cot with a sulky expression.

Just what he needed. Crazed fans with technology.

xxxxx

"Captain," Spock greeted Kirk as he returned to the bridge. "You have met with the intruder?"

"Yep," Kirk said, taking a seat in his chair and swiveling to face his first officer. Spock arched one eyebrow. Kirk knew he was curious, but it wasn't in his nature to ask for more information.

He grinned to himself, deciding not to make the Vulcan wait... this time. "He's wearing a suit from over two centuries ago and he claims to be be from New York." Kirk shrugged with a disbelieving snort. "And that he has no idea how he got onto the ship."

"I see," Spock said with a slight incline to his head.

"What do you think?" Kirk inquired.

"I do not yet have enough information to form a logical conclusion," Spock said after a pause.

"But you don't believe him," Kirk stated.

"The probability that his claims are valid is very low," Spock conceded.

"So... what's he really doing here?" Kirk wondered to himself as he spun back to face the view screen.

Spock remained silent, recognizing the rhetorical question.

They'd just have to wait and see, Kirk supposed. He grinned slightly. At least he wouldn't be bored anymore.