A/N: I'm sorry I haven't done this update sooner! My modem threw a fit. I think my computer is out to get me. First the damn monitor goes, and then the modem! Anyhow, enough ranting. I live for my reviewers! You're all so kind! Many, many thanks to: RoaringMice (I can honestly say I didn't know that about 'Yanks' - thanks for pointing that out, I'll remember for next time!) The Libran Iniquity (Thanks! And I'm sure your results will be great! Let me know how you get on.) West Dean (Heh heh - that part was fun to write!) Coconut Girl (Thank you! I will!) JadziaKathryn (Wow! Someone got the joke! lol - thanks!) Exploded Pen (You shouldn't put ideas in my head - Cannon Fodder! That's how I'm now thinking of Malcolm! Btw, I decided not to use any real writers in case I cause more fences to be stolen, but...you'll see! Next chapter, maybe!) elbcw (I dunnon - this 'Travis' bloke keeps appearing occasionally insisting he exists...lol...) and J Deaton (Awww. You made my day with your nice review!) Thanks guys! You Rock!

P.S: I'm concerned that this is going to drag on a bit, and it might get old quickly. That, and my writer's block is starting to evaporate. Nuts. So, while this is not the last chapter, this fic isn't going to drag on too much. I'm not quite done taking the proverbial just yet. And there's more Malcolm bashing to be done. And I like taking the P out of my own work and bad habits...like, not updating!

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

Chapter Four

Archer tried to move, and found himself frozen in place. He managed to shift his eyes – it seemed that the others were in a similar predicament, standing stock-still, like statues. Eventually, through a momentous effort of will, he managed to speak.

"T'Pol… what's… going… on?"

With an almost audible grating noise, T'Pol managed to move her jaw enough to speak.

"We… are… frozen… in… time."


"Failure… to… update."


Suddenly, T'Pol blinked and relaxed.

"I believe it is wearing off," she said, at last, "it is what's known as a failure to update, captain. The Writer has, for some reason, failed to write anything for some time."

"But I thought we weren't in a story at the moment," Archer said, confused.

"Nonetheless, we are trapped by the confines of the Writer's mind. Where we are forgotten about, we simply freeze in a moment until the Writer deigns to return attention to us."

"Are you telling me I'm a figment of someone's imagination?"

"You're a figment of something," T'Pol muttered.


"Never mind, captain."

"What about them?" Archer asked, pointing to Hoshi, Trip and Malcolm, who were still frozen.

"They have not yet been involved in the plot – what little there is of it. Hence, they are still frozen in time."

With an evil grin, Archer moved forwards. T'Pol sighed, and slowed herself a shake of the head.

"It's not like I expect you to behave like a normal adult," she sighed.

Archer grinned.

"They're going to be so pissed," he snickered, "how do we get them unfrozen?"

"That is down to the author."

"Oh, yeah…" giggled a voice from the corner.


Trip blinked slowly, and opened his eyes.

"What the -?"


"Oh, that's gross…"

Trip scowled, removing his fingers from where Archer had inserted them, while Malcolm fought to free himself from the rather compromising position he found himself involved in with Hoshi. All three of them glared at Archer.

"What?" he said, innocently.

"We know it was you."

"Can't do anything about it. I'm in charge, remember."

"Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight," chanted a voice.

"Don't tempt me," T'Pol growled, glaring at Archer, "Captain, may I remind you that we are currently surrounded by Fanfic Writers? We are entirely at their mercy."

There was a long pause as T'Pol's announcement sank in. Archer glanced slowly around the room.

"I don't see anybody," he said, at last.

"I do not believe that the Writers have chosen to manifest themselves physically," T'Pol replied, as the other occupants of the room kept their eyes fixed on her chest, "it is possible that our growing awareness of their existence is causing a, um…tear in the fabric of our reality…um…"

"T'Pol?" Trip frowned, "You're…umming."

"Umming?" T'Pol repeated, coldly, "Vulcans do not 'um'. We enunciate clearly."

"She ummed because she was making all that up," Hoshi said, firmly, folding her arms, "she has no idea why we can suddenly hear the voices of the Fanfic Writers."

"I don't see you coming up with any theories," T'Pol shot back, churlishly.

"All right, that's enough," Archer interrupted, "we can't let this go on indefinitely. We need to do something."

"As I previously pointed out, doing something would no doubt entail us getting entangled in a new plot and we would be lost in the story, at the mercy of the Writers," T'Pol pointed out, "it could be anything from angst to romance, drama to horror…it could even be…slash."

Trip and Malcolm instinctively took a step away from each other, while Hoshi inched closer to T'Pol. The Vulcan glared at her.

"I could, you know, invent a Vulcan death grip," she growled.

Hoshi held up her hands and backed off quickly.


All of a sudden, Malcolm was aware that the fic had switched to his point of view. That was a bad sign. He whimpered slightly, cringing.

Nothing happened. With one hand on his phase pistol, he looked carefully around the room. There were no mad Klingons, no scary aliens, and no attractive blonde SGC officers. The bulkheads seemed secure, and the table had miraculously repaired itself. He eyed it suspiciously, but it made to move to leap at him. Even the others were ignoring him.

He cleared his throat to speak, thinking it was about time he got some more dialogue.

"Hey!" shouted the voice from the corner, "Cannon Fodder! Behind you!"

Malcolm turned around instinctively as the other gaped at him. Behind him, there stood – or rather, sat – a giant, bright pink worm. It wore a blue baseball cap and carried a huge bat. It grinned at him and waggled its eyebrows (the worm had eyebrows?) suggestively.

"What the-?" Malcolm said, faintly.

Not the dialogue he'd been hoping for, but appropriate under the circumstances. With hands that floated strangely in front of it, totally lacking in arms, the worm drew back the baseball bat, and swung it with deadly force.

The others could only watch as it slammed into Malcolm, and sent him flying, somersaulting,through the air. He disappeared from view, and there was a distant splash.

"Good shot!" said a high-pitched voice.

The worm shouldered the bat, and, with a squeaking noise,crawled away into the turbo lift.


"What on earth was that?" Trip asked, in disbelief.

"Quantum singularity," T'Pol said, quickly, watching her logic evaporating quickly in the growing silliness, "an arbitrary manifestation of aggregate neurosis."


"She said it was a random show of total insanity," Hoshi translated.

"You understood all that?"

"Well, I am a linguist."

Suddenly, Malcolm reappeared, entering from the turbo lift, dripping wet, and scowling.

"Where've yew bin?" Trip asked, amused.

"Don't ask," Malcolm growled, "apparently, I 'slipped off the hook'."


"Well, I've had enough of this," Archer said, exasperated, "I give up. I'll be in my ready room."

"Captain, we've got to do something," Trip protested, he accent disappearing again, "you can't just leave us at the mercies of these people!"

"Yes I can. They seem more interested in you and Malcolm anyway. I'm electing not to be a part of this stupidity any more."

"Good plan," murmured the Voice, "go on, bug off."

With awkward, jerky movements, Archer strode off the bridge, as if he were fighting the movement but had no choice as to where he was going.

"That's the extent of the Writer's control," T'Pol said, calmly.

"S--t," Malcolm said, matter-of-factly.

"What the hell does 'st' mean?" Trip asked, mystified.

"It means we're under a mild rating," T'Pol told him, "You can't swear."


"Well, this is getting old, quickly," said the first Voice.

"Don't look at me, I've got Writer's block," replied the second Voice.

"We all have. That's the point."

"Well, get them out of the situation room."



There was a strange blur, and Trip whipped around in shock.

"The Decon chamber?" he said, mystified.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm groaned.

"This is nice," Hoshi purred.

"I object," T'Pol folded her arms.

The four of them were standing in the Decon chamber, lit with a soft blue glow that failed to hide the fact that they were all now in their underwear. Hoshi sidled closer to Malcolm.

"Will you rub that jelly all over me?" she asked, in a breathy tone.

Looking very tempted by that prospect, Malcolm reached out, but Trip grabbed his arm.

"What are you doing?" Malcolm asked, stunned.

"I want to do it."

"She asked me."

"It's my turn for some love interest."

"She likes me."

"You shot her in the first chapter."

"Oh, you would bring continuity into this, wouldn't you?"

"It's not something you can ignore!"

"Tell that to the bloody Writers!"

"That's enough!" T'Pol snapped, firmly, stepping between the two of them.

Malcolm leaned around her and winked at Trip.

"She's jealous that you want Hoshi," he grinned.

"I am not jealous!" T'Pol shot back.

She took a deep breath, and calmed herself.

"There's only one way to deal with this," she said, folding her arms determinedly, "We have to confront the Writers."


A/N: If anyone got confused by the thing with the worm with the baseball bat, it's taken from Worms 3D. Great game. Love it. You've got to try it. It's literally the only computer game I play. It's totally insane.