<Xander couldn't see much – halls decked with gold, creatures with tattoos of gold… gold, there was a lot of that. If he hadn't been running for his life, he might have cared. And sand… there was a lot of sand. "Kawalsky, get your ass in gear!"
Being fired on by fighters unlike anything he'd ever seen. **Death-gliders. They're called death-gliders.** The people beside him were only boys, led by Ska'ara… his older sister was Dr. Jackson's lady friend – Sha'uri?
He knew their name now – Goa'uld. Snakeheads. False gods. Parasites. Every man's worst nightmare taken form.
They had Sha'uri Jackson. She was only a vehicle for Ammonet, now… queen to the "god" Apophis.
Apophis… bane of the SGC. His queen had taken Sha'uri. His son – kid? Do Goa'uld have gender? – had taken Ska'ara. O'Neill loved that kid. They'd done something stupid. He just knew they'd done something stupid. If he made it back alive, he was going to get his ass chewed by Hammond along with the rest of the team. Damn snakeheads.
Damn. This is not good… at least he'd miss the lecture.>
Xander woke with a scream, though only a whimper escaped. <Damn it,> he thought, shaking. <I thought I was done with these damn dreams.> Dragging in a few deep breaths, he sat up in bed. Bit by bit, his breathing slowed, and he picked up the notebook he kept on his nightstand, writing down the words he remembered from the dream… adding them to the bottom of an already lengthy list.
<O'Neill… That has to be Colonel Jack O'Neill… he's already in here. Dr. Daniel Jackson – already here, but the other names are new… Sha'uri and Ammonet.> He put the pen down for a moment, and then added the names Ska'ara and Apophis. SGC was already on the list – it stood for "StarGate Command." "Hammond" was General George Hammond, CO.
"Death-gliders" was a new term. "Goa'uld" had been in his dreams before, but he hadn't added it the first time, so he jotted it down now. <What the hell is going on with me?>
Xander didn't realize he had set out the exercise mat until he had already started working through his basic kata, the one he'd known since that Halloween… the one where he became something other than the goofy Scooby.
<Not that anyone knows it,> he thought. <They accept "Donut Guy." They accept "Key Guy," – who can get dynamite for blowing up giant snakes. And they accept the guy that can con his way onto a military base and walk out with a rocket launcher… but how would they deal with the fact that their guy has some serious moves? Half the time we're fighting… whatever it is we fight in any given week… I have to push military guy to the back of my mind. I can't be too good. I can't let them know how much of that person is still with me.>
Finishing the kata, he rolled and stored the mat. After a shower and shave, he made his way to The Magic Box.
He stepped through the door only to walk into the middle of yet another argument between Buffy and Dawn, just one in a series of disagreements about boundaries, now that Buffy was having to be a parent – of sorts – instead of a sister. Xander could understand that neither of them had taken Joyce's death well – he hadn't, either. God knows she was more of a mother to him than his own had ever been.
The latest dream had shaken him, though… more than he wanted to admit. He wanted the shouting to stop and he wanted a Tylenol. Absent those, another workout would do – but that was out of the question, considering the possible audience.
Running through options in his head, and well aware of the screaming match that had just escalated – by several decibels – Xander did the only thing he could. He boxed away any sense of self-preservation and stepped between the two. Staring first at Buffy, then at Dawn, he used a tone of voice that would have made any Drill Instructor proud.
"Enough! Dawn, who is Buffy?"
The younger Summers, shocked into silence by Xander's extremely uncharacteristic outburst, hesitated a second. Xander spoke again.
"I just asked you a question, Summers. Who… Is… Buffy?"
"She's… my sister. She's the Slayer."
"Exactly." Xander's voice softened as he turned to face Dawn, completely aware that Giles was standing in the doorway, watching. "As your sister," Xander continued, "she loves you and she worries about you. As the Slayer, it is her sworn duty to <protect> you. Do you have any idea how lucky you are, Dawn? I know you miss Joyce. We all do. She was your mother and you want her back. I can understand that. But… you still have family left – family that cares, family that would die for your sake, family that doesn't get drunk and try to beat the shit out of you every time you step through the door. It's a priceless thing, Dawnie. Cherish it. Cherish <her.> The minutes that are lost in this pointless fighting are minutes you can <never> get back."
"Buffy." Xander turned sad, old eyes to the Slayer. "Who is Dawn?"
"She's… my little sister, my family… my blood."
"And the only family you think you've got left. You're scared," he said. "You're scared of making a wrong step, driving her away, failing to protect her, failing to do what you think Joyce would have wanted… terrified that you'll be left alone. I know that… I can do terrified… and I have. Buffy, you aren't alone. Dawn is your blood, but this little Scooby Gang here… we're all your family. You want Dawn to be safe… but that's not going to happen in this town. You know that. I know that. 'Safe' doesn't happen here. Your job is to teach her how to be safer. She's a smart girl, Buffy. She knows that it's not smart to be out alone after dark. She knows that there are times when it's better to run than fight and that there are times she'll need to stand her ground. She knows when to ask for help."
"Buffy," he continued, "you don't have to tell her all of this. You don't have to watch her every move. She misses her mother and wants her back, yes, but you are not Joyce. You are Buffy, and you need to be Buffy. You both have already lost your mother. Don't make Dawn lose her sister, too."
Lecture finished, Xander reverted to his usual, more fun-loving self… more or less. "Hey, G-man, would you happen to have any Tylenol around here?"
After downing the pain killers, the younger man took one more quick look at the two sisters, seated and speaking quietly. Then, he moved to the training room in the back of the shop – not to work out, but to sit somewhere that would be undisturbed by the sound of any customers. Taking several deep breaths, he chose a spot in the room that gave him a clear line of sight to the door, sitting with his back against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment.
Images rolled through his head again. Xander couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks as he was engulfed in a burning pain. <It's not me! It's not me. The pain is his. The **death** is his. Damn it all to hell; it just **hasn't** been a good day, and it's not even half over, yet.> The 'thunk' of his head hitting the wall echoed through the open space. It succeeded in distracting him from the images, but didn't really do much for the headache.
"Xander."
<One thing you gotta admire about G-man,> Xander thought. <He's always quiet… usually… except when he's angry… hell, I know what I mean even if I can't think straight!>
"Yeah, Giles?"
"Are you all right? You look, well… as though you're in quite a bit of pain."
"Headache," Xander answered. "Didn't sleep well, bad dream, 'nuff said."
Giles was at a loss. Willow and Buffy had always been willing to talk to him when there was a problem, but Xander – despite the jokes – continually held himself back. Giles knew that the younger man used to talk to Willow quite a bit, but since the Wiccan had started attending Sunnydale U., the conversations had tapered off. Willow's focus was on Tara, now, and Xander… The Watcher realized suddenly that Xander – of all the people in the group – was the one who was most on his own. At least Giles could call Olivia if he needed to talk to someone who knew about his role in Buffy's life.
Who did Xander have? There was Buffy, who was so preoccupied with Dawn and Slayer duties that Xander – being Xander – wouldn't want to burden her with whatever was on his mind. He also had no wish to butt in on Willow's relationship with Tara, and Giles… well…
Cordelia, as an ex-girlfriend, was not someone that Xander could just call out of the blue, and Wesley… during his time in Sunnydale, very <few> people confided in Wesley. Xander wouldn't want to talk to him, Angel was – on the whole – best left unmentioned, and Anya only annoyed him.
Giles locked eyes with the younger man, telling him with a look that he was quite aware something was going on here… and he wanted to know what it was. What he hadn't expected was the look that Xander returned.
It was cool, calm, collected – even in the face of pain – and it was not the Xander Harris that he knew. <At least, not that Xander that I **thought** I knew. What the bloody hell is going on here?>
Xander knew that look… or rather, military guy did. It was almost the same look O'Neill gave M.G. whenever they had walked into a situation that wasn't anywhere close to what Intel had said it would be. It was almost the same look M.G. had turned on Kawalsky a time or three, especially when his buddy had been trying to pull his leg. It was the look that said <stop yanking my chain and give me a straight answer… now.>
Xander sighed, giving up the fight for the moment… tired of it… the secrets, the lies. It would either go well or blow up in his face, and since those had really been the only options all along, it didn't really matter whether he told someone now or later.
"Close the door, Giles… and lock it, please. There's something that I need to show you, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell Buffy right this minute. She's got enough on her plate."
<I'm either stupid or desperate,> Xander thought. <What are they going to do when they find out what I've been keeping from them? Damn it, Harris, what are you doing? Oh, this is gonna rank high on the fun-o-meter… or maybe not.>
He stood easily, straightening without even using a hand for balance. He looked around the room for a second, searching out the tools he would need to "achieve the objective." <Ah, the joys of an inherited military mind,> Xander thought. <Gotta love it. The scary thing is… it's kinda grown on me. Yeah, I know how to do this because **he** remembers it… but memories don't equal skill. Knowing how doesn't mean that you can do something, so how much of this is him… and how much is me?>
Seeing what he wanted… the target board on the far wall, he picked up three throwing knives. Silently testing the balance, he delayed the inevitable for a second. These were the Slayer's weapons; he knew the balance would be perfect. He closed his eyes, visualizing the position of the target behind him, and quickly took three steps forward. Before Giles could even open his mouth to ask what Xander was doing, the younger man quickly turned, opened his eyes and threw the knives.
<Thunk.>
<Thunk.>
<Thunk.>
Giles watched, stunned, as all three blades landed dead center on the target board. He opened his mouth to speak… and closed it again as Xander looked at him, the expression on his face clearly meaning, 'Wait. I'm not done yet.'
Xander lost himself in the other man's memories, but was conscious enough of the movements to realize that the style was his… almost as though M.G. had been his teacher, rather than… well, <him.> The kata he did now was not the basic routine of that morning, but a longer one. This called for greater strength, a determination of the soul, a clarity of self. This routine allowed Xander to blend the full sense of himself with the essence of the other man… the man M.G. had been and the one he could have been – had he lived. Each progressive movement increased in difficulty, called for stronger punches, faster blocks, higher kicks.
Giles said nothing, analyzing what was going on right in front of his, trying to categorize – in his own way – the emergence of this completely unknown side to Xander Harris. This was not the joking young man he knew. This man was skilled, silent… and potentially lethal. If Xander could keep quiet in regards to skills like this – even when those skills were most needed – what else was he hiding?
Xander, after finishing the kata, cleaned and stacked the mats, wiping off all specks of dirt – even the invisible ones.
"Xander… when, how, where?"
He turned in response to the question – and saw what he'd feared most. Behind that curiosity, Xander could see suspicion and… Giles was afraid.
<Damn! DamndamndamndamnDAMN!!>
The expression in the Watcher's eyes seared him, and he turned away. "I'll answer your question, G-man, but don't expect me to look at you while I do it. If you fear me that much, the least I can do is give you distance and a clear target."
Giles could see the effect that his distrust was having on the younger man, but pushed aside the sense of remorse. He needed to know – <for everyone's safety,> he told himself – what else Xander had been hiding.
"In order," Xander continued. "<When> was the Halloween that Ethan Rayne turned us all into our costumes. <How> – well, I found out the hard way that if one component was affected, so was the <rest> of the costume, whether we'd bought it from Rayne's shop or not. The fatigues I was wearing were <used>, Giles. I didn't just turn into a military guy. I turned into a <specific> military guy – an Air Force major with extensive Black Ops experience. The fatigues were a set that he'd used while attending the Air Force Academy, when he had a little less bulk and was a couple inches shorter."
He took a deep breath before concluding his answer. "The <where>, of course, was right here on the jolly old Hellmouth."
Inside of ten minutes, Giles had called everyone together and temporarily closed The Magic Box. <Well, isn't this going to be pleasant?> The tone of Xander's thoughts would have matched the sarcasm in his voice… if he'd felt like speaking. He knew… he just <knew> that they were going to want to know things that he wouldn't allow himself to tell them.
Giles looked at him, wordlessly commanding that he repeat what he had just told the Watcher. <What an interesting day this has been. I already have one person refusing to trust me… shall we go for four more? Five, if I count Anya.> Glaring at the older man, he explained the skills that he had shown Giles… and watched all hell break loose.
The exclamations of surprise, betrayal and suspicion echoed around the room until Xander dropped his head in his hands and forced himself to shut out the questions, the noise… the pain. He kept his eyes closed, grateful that none of his <friends> could see the expression on his face. Setting his face in the same mask the M.G. had always used when working with difficult SGC personnel, he set about preparing to answer the questions… or rather accusations… directed at him.
"First," he said, his voice controlled but angry, "if anyone dares to voice the suspicion – once again – that I am a demon or wizard and <not>, in fact, Xander Harris, will find that the last thing they see is my back as I walk out that door. Six years hasn't really done anything to convince you that I'm anything more than the carefree goofy Scooby, has it? Willow knows that my dearly <beloved> – and often <drunk> – parents both thought a good smack cured a lot of problems… and yet, no one thinks that by now, I <might> have learned to duck?"
"Second," he continued, "I heard someone ask why I hadn't been using these skills before. The answer to that one, kiddies, is very simple." <Ok, now I'm starting to sound like O'Neill. M.G. spent a little too much time around him.> "I have his memories, yes, but having knowledge does <not> mean that I have the skill. I mean, hey, I've got an absolutely fantastic recipe for chicken cacciatore floating around in my head, but every time I try to make it, it ends up looking, well… toxic. I knew what to do, but I was not in any shape to do it. I wasn't conditioned… I didn't have the strength, the flexibility or the stamina at the beginning to do anything close to what Giles saw me do today. If I'd tried these moves in a combat situation before I was physically ready to use them, I would have been a liability. I would have ended up hurt – at the least – and if any of you had stayed to help me, you could have ended up <dead.> It all depends on the situation."
He ended with something of a sigh. "Giles, you're a tactician… more or less. Surely you can see the logic in this."
Giles didn't say anything… but he <did> nod. <Well,> Xander thought, <that has to be a point in my favor, at least.>
"Well," Buffy said, "I am totally with the not wanting to use the serious moves until you were ready, but what about the other knowledge that's floating around in your Xander-riffic little head?"
"Other knowledge, other knowledge," Xander mused, relaxing slightly since Buffy's tone seemed to be edging back into the non-threatening zone. "Other knowledge like my now-impressive vocabulary of Italian curse words? Or other knowledge like how to field strip almost any automatic firearm known to the American military – whether it was actually made in this country or not?"
"I was actually thinking other knowledge like Military Guy's name, what he does…?"
"He doesn't <do> anything now, Buffster. I'm not 100%, but I'm thinking that he died a few months after our most memorable episode of <Halloween on the Hellmouth.> As for what he <did>… I can't tell you that, Buff, but it's no threat to us."
Giles' voice had gone cold again when he spoke. "Why can't you tell us, Xander?"
"Loving the distinct lack of trust here, G-man, really. You want a reason, Giles? I can give you several. One – it's <classified.> I'm not supposed to know it in the first place, much less tell anyone else. Two – most of his team members and his friends are still working with this particular project. Spilling the beans could end up getting them very <dead> and that would kinda run counter to the Scooby mission of protecting humanity. Three – if anyone ever found out that I spilled this info, I would be tried and convicted of <treason>, and I'm not going there."
"Four," he said, his voice growing softer, colder. His eyes blazed with anger at a man who had rarely ever taken him seriously. "Four – I see no reason to divulge their secrets to you when I would not divulge yours to them. Add to that the fact that you're having a real 'hypocritical bastard' moment, here, Giles, and I think that's enough reason for anybody. They are no threat to anyone here, <G-man>, and I will not spread knowledge that could pose a threat to them. I can't do that, Giles. You do not need to know everything. Their work has nothing to do with demons, nothing to do with Sunnydale, and really isn't your concern. If that's a problem… if you feel that you can't trust me to watch over my friends simply because you underestimated my ability to do so, please, let me know. I can leave."
"Xander, don't." Willow's voice – previously silent – made him pause. Instead of heading toward the door, he sat back down. <Stupid, Harris… very, very stupid. I should have kept my mouth shut.>
Xander repressed the urge to run his hands through his hair and took another look at his shocked friends. <I need more sleep.> Much as he wanted out of there, he knew he would stay. Willow had asked, after all – his 'bestest bud.' He never could refuse her anything.
"Alright," he said. "I'll calm down if you will, Giles. I understand that you're nervous – after all, you thought you knew pretty much everything there was to know about me, and this is a hell of a wrench to throw in the works. However, I also expect you to respect the fact that my life is my own. Yes, these memories are a part of me now, and some of them may be important to this team. You have to realize that I will inform you if something I know would be useful to us, and that those things I keep secret are kept that way because it has nothing to do with this particular fight, and, if revealed, would compromise the safety of people that the Major considered to be family. I will not betray this team – my friends – but, by the same token, I cannot betray <his> team, <his> friends. He was a good man and he died fighting for what he thought was right. I will not make that sacrifice meaningless by turning my back on everything he fought for. Do you have a problem with that?"
Giles stared at him, saying nothing. In Xander's eyes – though relatively shielded – Giles could see the deep wound caused by his distrust. <Have I spent too much time here>, he wondered, <that I would be so willing to believe the worst of someone who's always stood by Buffy and Willow… even before he knew how to fight?> He mentally reviewed a few of the things that Xander had revealed… the information about the young man's drunk – and abusive – parents striking a chord deep within him. He hadn't known about that. <Why didn't I know about that?>
Xander, misinterpreting Giles' silence to mean complete rejection, simply rested his head in his hands. He couldn't leave, after all. <I never realized it could hurt like this. I mean, I never told him about the really big, ugly stuff, but he was always there… even if he never knew it, I could always go to him when Dad was drunk. Will he turn away, too, because I wouldn't betray the Major's friends, because I didn't tell him that I could take care of myself? Where will it go from here?>
He sighed, and spoke again, "G-man, I know you. You… for some reason… trusted the Xander that you knew, and suddenly, you don't think that I'm him anymore. You feel betrayed. You think that I don't trust you because I didn't tell you. The point is that I <do> trust you… but I wasn't ready to explain this, even to myself. Everyone here has something in their past that they never told the rest of us… or that shocked us when we found out. Giles, with you it was 'Ripper.' With Tara, it was finding out that she might be a demon… even though she isn't. With Willow, well… actually, finding out that she liked girls was no big deal – temporarily weird, given that she used to date guys, but no big deal. This, this is <my> thing."
"No one objected to Oz being a werewolf; we just dealt with it. He was still Oz… just got a little furry. I'm still Xander; I just knew things that I couldn't tell you. They're not my secrets to tell, guys. They're <his.> Truth be told, I <have> used several of his skills to help our little Scooby selves. It's not just anybody who could walk out of a military base with a rocket launcher. And how did you think I got the dynamite for graduation? If it weren't for the Major, if it weren't for his memories, I wouldn't have been able to do that. I might have had the ability, but I wouldn't have had the <knowledge>, and no chance of getting past the sentry."
"Of course," he continued, "that's presuming that I could have lived that long without his knowledge in my head. I have never kept anything from any of you if it could help. Is there anything I can do to convince you of that… or should I not even bother?"
Xander's head was pounding again, and he realized that he probably needed to drink something or run the risk of getting dehydrated. Seeing the look of alarm on Willow's face, he smiled. "I'm not leaving, Wills; I promise. I'm just grabbing a glass of water."
He got the water and drank it slowly while standing in the kitchen. This would give the others a chance to talk… and give him a chance to <think.>
Despite Xander giving them time to speak about the situation, no one was saying anything in the main room of The Magic Box. Dawn looked at Buffy. Buffy looked at Giles. Giles wasn't really looking at anything. Tara looked at Willow. Willow… stared blankly at the table. Anya… just dusted the counter and counted the cash.
"Giles, we need to talk about this, you know."
"Yes. Yes, Buffy, I suppose we do, but I don't precisely know where to start."
"Well, we got Xander's take on things. What's yours, oh Wise, Watcher-person?"
Giles removed his glasses, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket so that he could clean them. "Events could have happened as Xander related them. It is quite possible that the used clothing could have retained the essence of the former wearer. I don't quite know. I've never heard of anything… precisely like this, but there is little chance that he could have learned those moves on his own, and I don't believe that there have been military personnel in Sunnydale – with that level of skill – since the Initiative left. What I saw represents years of dedicated training… and he would have had to train to physically condition himself. Xander said as much."
"But Xander didn't do anything, Giles, and you've been treating him like he has." Willow's soft voice was a bit of shock, given her recent silence. "He didn't <plan> for Rayne to cast that spell. He didn't do this to himself… and he's right, you know. If he hadn't been Military Guy, there's no way any of us would have had access to the rocket launcher or the dynamite."
"True enough, Willow, though I must admit to wondering why he kept it to himself. Why didn't he trust us enough to tell us what was going on?"
"That one's easy, Giles. He was afraid we would act exactly the way we <did.> With the way his parents treat him… well, he probably <expected> us to react badly, no matter <when> he told us, so he wanted to delay it as long as he could."
"Okay, Wills." Dawn spoke tentatively. "Obviously I'm missing some details. I know Xander's parents aren't the best, but… could you explain, please?"
Willow was torn. She knew that if the rest of the group really wanted to understand Xander, they had to be told about this, but what if Xander didn't want her to say anything?
Looking up, she saw Xander standing in the doorway. She started to speak once she saw him nod.
Xander wasn't really listening to Willow; he knew her well enough to have a pretty good idea of what she would tell them. It was Willow, after all; she'd handle things in a very diplomatic manner. Right now, he was going on his own personal trip down Memory Lane, and he knew that parts of it really <weren't> going to be pretty.
<He didn't know what had drawn him to her. Maybe it was the hair – he'd never seen hair that shade of red before. Maybe it was that absolutely hideous pink dress that someone had made her wear. Maybe it was just the fact that she was sitting in the seat next to his. Maybe – most likely – it was that she was crying. He didn't know what had happened at first… just that she was scared. He knew what 'scared' was. He took a closer look then, seeing that she'd broken one of her crayons. **That was easy to fix,** he thought. **Broken glasses are harder.** He couldn't smile at her yet, but he could help her. Silent, as he always was then, he handed her his own perfect yellow crayon, in trade for her broken one. Broken crayons were easily fixed, after all, and easier hid.>
<It took a while before he figured out that her parents weren't really like his and Jesse's. Her fear was more of a painful shyness than an absolute terror. In the beginning, he didn't tell her about his parents. He joked and teased and tickled. He talked more in class… made a fool of himself just so she would laugh. He and Jesse swore to each other that they would never let her know, because there was sunshine in her laughter, and they didn't want her to be afraid.>
<Three years. He and Jesse managed to go three years without letting her see the bruises and the cuts, and passing broken bones off as childhood clumsiness. They were boys, after all; they were **supposed** to do foolish things that ended in injury. Of course, neither of them ever worded it like that. It was Xander's cracked ribs that gave them away… that December when they were in 3rd grade.>
<Willow's parents were out of town. No surprise, there; they were **always** out of town. Her nanny had a certain fondness for the two boys… and their effect on her charge… and so allowed them to sleep over and watch pretty much whatever they wanted. That night, it was "A Charlie Brown Christmas," despite the fact that Willow was Jewish. Willow, doing her own version of the "Snoopy Dance," tripped, and Xander – reaching to catch her – actually managed to catch her elbow in his ribs. The nanny heard him scream, pretty much guaranteeing that the hospital would be the next stop.>
<"He fell off his bike," his parents said. "He said he was fine.">
<When the doctor asked, Xander didn't say a word against **them.** No matter what he said that night… he would pay for it later. And they were still his parents, after all. Jesse's parents were the same, so why would suspect that another family would be all that different?>
<Xander didn't come to school for a week after that, and never mentioned what had happened. Jesse knew the shadows in his eyes for what they were. Willow said nothing, taking him home and cleaning up the cuts, having seen and absorbed something during the week he'd been 'sick.' She was used to parents who ignored their child. But this… she had never seen parents who **hated** their child. Xander found out later that she had spent the week reading anything she could find about first aid, determined to help him as much as she could.>
<No one thought of telling the police; the trio would have been separated then… and Xander would have been lost without Jesse and his 'bestest bud' Will.>
<The injuries got worse as the years went on… when his parents actually **saw** him. Relocating to the basement helped with the last. And he had gotten very good at playing the consummate goofball and clutz. Toward the end, the Major only helped. Stealth was a survival skill, and his memories had given Xander a few hints that only served to boost a talent that he already had. But he had rarely practiced the moves in the basement. Rarely, but there were a few times when that was his only method of relaxation. If he'd known the Major the night Jesse died, he would've used it then. But he didn't.
When Ms. Calendar was killed… **that** was the biggie.>
Blinking his way back to reality <before> he had to relive that particular memory, he was just in time to hear Willow relate a certain incident Freshman year involving dear old dad and a baseball bat. <Oh, yeah, that's one I'll remember for a **long** time. Yet another reminder that my ribs really hate me… and that I probably need to drink more milk. Strong bones and all that.>
Watching Willow tell as much of his tale as she could – without mentioning too many of the things that still gave her nightmares – Xander spared a moment to be grateful that his headache was fading.
"Wills," he said, interrupting somewhere in the middle of Junior year, "I think they've heard enough of the 'Xander hit parade,' k?"
"Sure, Xand," she said, taking a look around the table. Dawn and Tara were looking vaguely ill, Buffy was hovering somewhere around enraged, and Anya was… well, looking as though she were slightly bored. She had obviously heard worse.
Giles… Giles was lost somewhere in his own thoughts. <Xander has suffered betrayal after betrayal… and I, in my worry over Buffy – and my own anger at not being trusted with this – only betrayed him once again. Who angered me more – him, for not telling me – or myself, for never noticing that something was wrong?>
And again, Xander perceived a complete lack of reaction from Giles… and his mind saw even more proof that the Watcher really didn't care.
Xander moved around the table to give Willow a hug, offering a silent apology for not being able to tell the tale himself. "So, team," he asked, still holding Willow. "Where do we go from here? Giles?" In the end, he knew that the Watcher would be the deciding vote, one way or another.
"I'm afraid I don't quite know, Xander. As I mentioned before – when you were in the kitchen – I've never come across anything precisely like this. I wouldn't even begin to know how to reverse this particular aspect…"
"Giles, that wasn't what I was asking. I wanted to know about group dynamics. Where – as a <group> – do we go from here? At this point, I've grown so used to having his knowledge in the back of my head, I'm not sure what I'd do without it, even if I can't actually mention or overtly use most of it."
"Oh… well. Quite frankly, Xander… I'm mystified. I have… no idea how to deal with this."
"Even though I'm the same person that I was when I walked in the door this morning?" Xander asked. "Even though the only thing that has changed is that you know more now than you did then? I <know> it's a lot to take in, Giles. How do you think I felt when it first happened? Back then, there were times when I could barely tell my memories from his; when I saw them it was like having flashbacks, but I'd never been where he was. And that was with only a <few> of his memories floating around in my brain. I got the lessons and started the practice – it was his habit, after all – but the memories usually came by way of dreams, and they stopped after a little while. They <stopped>, Giles… until we fought Glory. I've barely slept since. Does it make you feel better to know that I'm taking this just as badly as you?"
There was no anger in Xander's voice now. Exhaustion, yes… sadness, yes… but not anger. "You know what?" he said. "I'm going to go back to my place and shower – again. Then, I'm going to grab some groceries, bring them home and make some lunch. That'll give everyone a chance to think about all of this some more… figure out what's what. Anyone who wants to talk more about this should meet me there at 2:30. That gives everybody about two hours to do… whatever."
"Xander."
"Will, it makes the most sense. You'll be able to think more objectively if I'm not around."
"I don't need to think objectively, Xand, and I don't need to wait. I'll help with the groceries… for one small favor?"
"And that would be, bestest bud?"
"If I help with the grocery shopping, you give me that recipe for chicken cacciatore?"
"Done and done."
Willow glanced at Tara, but a small shake of the blond head told her that the other witch wanted to stay.
Really <looking> at Xander's apartment for the first time, Willow saw the hints of the changes in her friend. She made a mental tally of the items she'd never seen before. The exercise mat – rolled and stored in the corner – was first on the list. Next was a small set of weights. <Is that a quarterstaff… or just an extremely well-balanced walking stick?> To her surprise, she noticed that Xander had bookshelves now. <Bookshelves? Since when has Xander had actual… well.. anything other than textbooks and comics?>
Xander came out of the bathroom, dressed only in a pair of jeans… and drying his hair with a towel… while Willow continued to look at the books.
"Finding anything interesting, Will?" he asked, almost grinning when she squeaked, startled.
She calmed down a bit and said, "I was looking at your books. I didn't even know you <had> books… other than the ones for school, that is, but I thought you'd gotten rid of those after Graduation, and…"
"Wills, buddy, you're babbling again." Smiling – his first real smile since he woke up that morning – he slipped on a short and made his way over to her. "Do you have any questions for me now… or do you want to wait until everyone else is here?"
"Umm… it can wait, I think… if I can look at these while we do the lunch thing… and maybe just chat about life?"
"Sure. Just start wherever… and if you decide you want to take it with you to finish reading, just let me know. I'll write myself a sticky note as a reminder that you have it. That way I won't go nuts trying to find it if I want to check something out."
Nodding, she perused the books – trying to choose just one – while Xander went to copy the recipe… and make something resembling lunch. In the end, she chose the one that wasn't really a book so much as a bound copy of a thesis paper. <Or something like that, anyway. Maybe it's a copy of a conference presentation that Xander printed out. But… why would he have printed a paper about the Egyptian pantheon? And why does it feel like I should know who Daniel Jackson is?> She took another look at the shelves before she sat down with the paper. <Why are there so many books on Egypt?>
If anyone had looked, they would have seen Giles in his office. It was true enough that he was <physically> there, but <mentally> was a somewhat different matter. Sitting in his desk chair, where he had slumped upon reaching his office – shortly after Xander and Willow had left – he was in no shape to care where his glasses had landed when he'd tossed them at his desk. He vaguely knew that it would be better if they'd landed on top, but whether they actually <had> was beyond his line of thought. Some part of him also remembered a cup of tea sitting on his desk… tea that had gone cold quite some time ago.
The Watcher was of two minds right now… and they seemed diametrically opposed to each other. Having seen Dawn writing in her journal shortly before he closed the office door, Giles decided to follow her lead… and make a list.
<Did Xander keep a secret?> The answer to that one was undoubtedly "yes."
<As a corollary, did that secret pose a threat – or **appear** to pose a threat to the "Scooby Gang?"> Giles, for the moment, left that one unanswered, as he truly didn't know.
<Also as a corollary, what makes this secret worse than any that **I've** kept from this group?> For that, Giles tallied up a separate list of secrets he'd kept until it was absolutely necessary to reveal them… or until the others had discovered them independently. He had kept quiet about his past as Ripper… pretty much until that Halloween that would be permanently associated with Ethan Rayne. He'd kept silent about the Cruciamentum until the last possible moment. He'd kept silent… on so many things. Buffy still did not know what had motivated Snyder to readmit her to Sunnydale High, and he had no intention of telling her now.
<What makes his secret worse than any that the **others** have kept?> The first thing that came to Giles' mind was how Buffy had never mentioned that Angel had returned from Hell, fearing – rightly – how the others would react.
<Fearing – rightly – how the others would react.> He looked at what he had just written, and sat back in thought. <Willow mentioned that Xander feared our reaction… was doubtless worried that we'd think him either a danger… or a freak, unusual… different. Even when I was furious at Buffy for hiding Angel, I still spoke to her. Why won't I talk to Xander? What makes **him** – of all the individuals here – the one person with whom I cannot break barriers? I know that he will explain what he can. I know that we need to speak with one another… so why have I said nothing to reassure him that he is still welcome in this group?>
Giles gently placed his pen on the desk, rubbed his aching eyes and looked around for his glasses. They lay – thankfully unbroken – on the floor near the front left corner of his desk. Cleaning them and slipping them on, he read over the list again… and again… and again.
<First, I'm a demon… but it turns out that I'm really not. Oh, yes, and dating a girl, which daddy and the rest of the family would have thought was worse… if they'd figured it out. Mixed in with that was the Initiative, Willow's personal version of "Meet the Family" all for me – except it was more of a "Meet the Ex-Boyfriend Who's a Werewolf and Wants to Rip You to Shreds Because You Slept With Willow" kind of thing.
Every day Willow's magic gets stronger and stronger. How long will it be until it overwhelms me? Vampires, demons, the Amy-rat – how can anyone know all of this and still live a normal life?
When I got involved with Willow, I never realized exactly what that would mean, and every morning just reinforces the fact that I was never really taught how to handle this. The Night of Silence just shoved me into the demon-fighting world with no way of knowing exactly what I was doing.
After the Initiative left, the group had a tame vampire – more or less. How weird is that when you consider that these people are supposed to kill vampires? And now I'm hearing that Xander apparently isn't who we thought he was… and something about a rocket launcher.. and dynamite? No one told me this. No one told me anything about dynamite and a rocket launcher and a Halloween that apparently turned Xander into some kind of soldier boy who possessed knowledge of an awful lot of ways to kill people.
And when, during any of this, did I ever agree to losing my sanity – temporarily or otherwise – by way of Glory, Hell Goddess Extraordinaire?
I came here thinking to get away from the weirdness and oppression that was my family – and only seemed to run straight into something worse… on some levels, anyway. I love Willow. I really do, but… sometimes she scares me. Not because of her magic, because it's good… but there's just so much of it.
And she stood there and acted like she didn't think Xander was in the slightest bit dangerous. How can he not be dangerous when he has access to things like rocket launchers and dynamite? Isn't the Hellmouth hazardous enough without that stuff floating around?
She knew about Xander's childhood and never told anybody, but doesn't she see that that could make him more aggressive? Abuse is a cycle; abusers were often abused themselves as children. What happens if Xander starts to do that? Doesn't she know that if he got angry at her, these new skills in his head would tell him exactly how to kill her? This new person is military, Black Ops, lethal…
Or… is it actually a new person? Have I ever known Xander at all? Does anything in this town make sense?
Willow… what's going on?>
Tara stared blankly at the door, and couldn't decide if she really wanted to know the answer to that last mental question.
Xander had almost relaxed when the first Scoobies knocked at the door. Tension coiling in him again, he opened the door to reveal Buffy and Dawn. "Tara's riding with Giles," the Slayer said. "They should be here in a few. Anya wanted to stay at the shop just in case anyone wanted to buy something."
As Xander motioned the sisters in to his apartment – and told them that his kitchen was their kitchen – the know of fear deep within him relaxed a little bit. Giles was coming. <He can't be **too** angry at me, then… right? Or is he just coming to figure out how much of a threat I am?>
As promised, Giles and Tara showed up a few moments later, relatively quiet. <Wait… never mind… Giles doesn't really say a lot under **normal** circumstances.> Xander's heart warmed at the tiny smile on the Watcher's face. <Ok, smiling is good, especially since it's a Giles-smile and not a Ripper-smile. Maybe I can relax a little… maybe?>
Willow – using the recipe card to mark her page – returned the paper to its proper shelf. She didn't want to be distracted by Dr. Jackson's odd… yet fascinating… theories. Right now just wasn't a good time to be thinking about these.
After the Scoobies had made themselves comfortable, with beverage and/or snack of choice in hand, Xander took a seat on the couch, waiting for the inevitable. Surprisingly, it was neither Giles nor Buffy who asked the first question. That came from Dawn.
"So, Xander," she said, "from the talk at The Magic Box, I'm guessing you've got some pretty serious moves?" He nodded, not entirely sure where she was going with this.
"As you know," she continued, the glint in her eyes warning him that something was up, "school starts in a week. I'm kinda hoping that there will be dates with cute guys at some point. The problem is… some of these guys will act like they lived with an octopus – you know… more than two hands and really grabby. Buffy's busy with the job search and the slaying, but you have a nice, set schedule." She stopped for a moment, grinning, and Xander knew that this was going to be interesting.
"So, about those serious moves – could you teach me? I mean, you know, since Buffy's busy… and well, she deals more with a 'stake through the heart' method rather than a 'need to deal with teenage males' kind of thing, anyway."
Slightly startled, Xander turned to look at Buffy, not wanting to offend his friend by agreeing to teach Dawn without her permission. The open smile on her face let him know that the sisters had arranged this, either in the shop or in the car. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself. Looking up – his voice mostly steady – he nodded. "Sure, Dawnie," he said. "I'd be glad to teach you."
<Thank God,> Dawn thought. <I wasn't sure he'd even want to talk to us, now. I'm still not **quite** sure what's going on… of course, that might have something to do with never being told the stories behind the dynamite and rocket launcher. Were they before Mom found out about Buffy being the Slayer… or did everybody just think I was too young to be spoiled by the Hellmouth just yet? Hmm… I need to do some investigating I think. In the meantime, Xander looks like he needs a hug.>
Willow had moved over to sit by Tara while Dawn asked her question, so the younger woman snagged the Wiccan's spot on the couch and snuggled closer to the man she thought of as an older brother. Xander put an arm around her… and finally – completely – relaxed. He could <handle> whatever questions he got now, even if he couldn't <answer> all of them.
Giles looked at the scene before him, almost smiling. <Dawn has accepted Xander. Apparently, so has Buffy.> He still had questions, but he would prefer to converse with Xander in private. Giles, reflecting on the silent Tara he had brought over, really wasn't certain how she was taking the information… especially in light of everything that had happened in the past few months. At the moment, her thoughts – whatever they were – appeared to be of a serious bent.
Xander, Dawn, Buffy and Willow were still chatting – rather jokingly – with one another. <Most likely to offset any nervousness Xander might still be feeling about me,> Giles thought. <I need to talk to him, but this is neither the right place nor the right time, and that much is **my** fault, I'm afraid. He didn't wish to worry Buffy, and that is precisely what I did… yet she seems to be taking this far better than I have been.>
His thoughts were interrupted by a frantic knocking at the door and shocked looks shared between all members of the group. Anya wouldn't leave the store for anything short of an emergency – if that – and none of them had been expecting guests. <Certainly not Xander, if one is to judge by the way he suddenly went on alert. How could I **not** have noticed his training?>
Xander, walking to the door, took the precaution of looking through the peephole before unlocking the deadbolt and ushering in a slightly crispy Spike, muttering words that would have had Ripper whistling in admiration. <Rupert>, on the other hand, glared at the chipped vampire. There was a young woman in the room, after all. <Though she's doubtless heard worse, he thought. Although, given that **last** comment… I could be mistaken.>
"I have been trying to bloody well find the bunch of you for the last hour, and the only one I've come across is Miss Former Vengeance Demon USA… Can you believe she tried to sell me some silly little fertility charm? I'm a vampire, for Hell's sake! Why would I need a fertility charm? What, did she think it would help me get my bite back or something? Make a few companions for the poor little lonely, demon-fighting vampire?" Spike again lapsed into muttered curses, ignoring the confused glances flying around the room.
Staring at the vampire – somewhat convinced that Spike has finally lost it – Xander decided that enough was enough. "Spike! You said you were looking for us. Would you mind telling us <why>?"
"When did Construction-Boy grow a backbone?"
"<Now> would be good, Spike." Xander knew he probably should have at least said hello or something. <We were almost getting somewhere in this conversation,> he thought, <but, no, Spike has to come interrupt. He's lucky that I'm not calling him 'Fangless' right now. I hope he's not just looking for some relief from his boredom. Ok, Harris… chill out. Things seemed to be going ok, so I can take a ten minute break for the undead.>
"Oh, yeah." The blond vampire paused for a moment, gathering his words. "Anyway, I was sitting in my friendly little crypt, bored out of my mind…"
"<Spike.>"
"Alright, alright. Geez. I didn't want to watch my soaps, so I decided to go wandering – went into the sewer system, walked around a bit. I heard a few interesting things about a relatively new cult on the outskirts of good old Sunnyhell."
"Is there any particular reason why that should be of interest to us, Spike?" Xander turned his head to look at Giles, grateful that the Watcher was no longer <completely> silent.
"I'm not exactly sure… but some things I've been hearing about this group.. .just don't come off as being on the up and up. Granted, there are weirder things than cults, but I didn't know that the old gods were coming back into style by <that> much. I've heard the group's buildin' some kind of temple, but never quite got the name of the leader – couldn't get close enough, what with the sunlight and all."
"Spike, where – <exactly> – is this place?"
"I don't exactly know… I've just <heard> things, not <seen> anything."
Giles, though alert to Xander's movements and reactions, hadn't seen what Willow had, the redhead having known him much longer.
<Xander's nervous. Something Spike said has made him… well.. wiggy. Why, though? I mean, this is a cult… but there are lots of those. This is a cult in **Sunnydale,** which is usually of the bad – I'll admit that – but we could probably find a way to deal with them, if it's actually a problem. It could just be Spike being one with the weird.>
"Alright, so you can't narrow it down to a specific address. Can you at least show me a general area?
"Yeah, yeah, I can do that."
"Xander?"
"Yeah, Wills?"
"What's going on?"
He looked at her for a second and smiled. "Probably nothing," he said "Something just doesn't feel right." He paused for a moment. "Buff, will you trust me?"
"Of course, Xand-man, but what do you want to do?"
"I want to check this place out… let the Black Ops skills have a little play time."
"And?"
"And… depending on what this cult actually <is>, we just might need a little help. I don't know yet."
Several hours later, under cover of darkness, Xander made his way to the edge of the compound. Ignoring the memories of the discussion leading up to this – which <had> been friendly, if a little heated – he concentrated on getting as close as humanly possible He couldn't afford distraction right now.
He walked softly. Getting caught was the last thing on his agenda tonight. As it was, he knew he'd catch hell when he got back, chiefly because Willow was less than pleased that he'd opposed her coming along as back-up. Buffy… well, he'd worry about that later.
He spared a glance back to where Spike waited… silent and hiding. Much as he disliked Spike, Xander didn't particularly want him dusted – right now, anyway. If <they> had zats, he had a feeling they could do more than <stun> a vampire with that first shot. Of course, if they had zats, then they might have staff weapons, and he had no doubt one shot from a staff would be the end of Spike. Even though the presence of the weapons was more theory and conjecture than fact, he didn't want to test that theory on the only person who could lead the others here.
Crouched near the wall, his focus on the entrance gate, Xander spared a moment to be thankful that he'd thought to detour and grab the night-vision goggles when he'd "requisitioned" the dynamite for graduation. Granted, at the time, C-4 would have been more effective – and less trouble to carry out of the base – but it would have taken longer to <access> than he'd had at the time. <Precisely because it's easier to conceal than the dynamite,> Xander thought. <I'm probably going to wish that I had some soon though… big boom in a relatively small package. Tonight's just recon, but if they are what I think they are…>
As Xander watched various members of the "congregation" head through the gate – either into the complex or out on business – he started to realize that there was definitely something to set this apart from your run of the mill cult.
<Where are the teenagers? Most of the cults that have sprung up around here in the past have drawn in high school and college kids, drop-outs and runaways… but these… The youngest here is at least twenty-four, either from a working background or a grad student. There… that one looks like he should be in a three-piece suit instead of… whatever that is that he's wearing. These are academics and professionals… but there is a look. Maybe… hope and desperation for some. But the guards are cold – professionals, yes… but I don't think they're here for the same reason as the scholars and the businessmen.>
<And… am I imagining things… or are most of these people paired up?>
Shaking off the strangeness of the situation for the moment, Xander focused on the symbols inscribed above the gate. He didn't want to risk getting too close tonight; this was just some basic recon to get an idea of the leader's identity. Concentrating on the symbols – without blocking out everything around him – Xander went over them in his mind, mentally drawing them again and again until he felt he knew every nuance. They <meant> something, and he wanted them researched.
Inch by inch, he slid closer to the entrance, sinking into the deep grass and avoiding the light. <I hope there aren't any snakes out here… or snakeheads.> He paused when those outside the gate looked up, all focused on the figure standing on the wall.
<Of course,> he thought, <they could just be startled by her taste in clothes… or her lack of them. I think I've seen string bikinis that conceal more than that. The fabric doesn't really count if it's see-through, after all.>
Xander froze when he heard someone coming a little too close for comfort, hoping that Spike was listening to what <she> was saying. It looked like the mortal part of this duo might be a bit busy avoiding capture to pay attention to teacher.
<Shit. This is definitely NOT good.> All but holding his breath, he listened as the steps came closer. He couldn't hear any voices aside from <hers>, but that was not necessarily a good thing. Xander stopped himself from breathing a sigh of relief when the person passed him by, obviously focused more on the scantily-clad woman than on anyone who might have been lurking in the shadows. Xander could see the reason, of course – the outfit was most certainly worthy of close attention – but that didn't stop him from being grateful that no one had yet seen him.
He couldn't hear everything, but she spoke of love… and children? <That doesn't sound like a Goa'uld,> he thought, <but something about this just isn't right.> The looks on the guards' faces were far from comforting. <Well, **they're** certainly not interested in love and kids.. so why are they here? And why is there a fascination with children when there aren't any children? Come on, lady, give me a name. Give me a name and I can go crack open a book.>
Listening, watching… he saw what he'd been suspecting all along. As she coaxed her believers to give voice to their faith, her eyes began to glow. And her name, he learned… was <Ishtar>.
It hadn't taken him long to sneak back up the road to where Spike had camouflaged himself, surprising the vampire by grabbing his arm and all but dragging him down the street… back toward the center of town and The Magic Box. Once he was <certain> they were out of sight of everyone in the compound, Xander broke into a run, staying in the shadows… as invisible as possible with the dark clothing – and having removed the night-vision goggles. At this point, he could see well enough by way of the streetlights… and if anyone had noticed them, the goggles would have been suspicious, at the least.
Confused, and more than a little annoyed, Spike followed. <I don't know what the bloody Hell's going on around here tonight…cults, Xander acting like he's spent the last decade and more in the military… and that woman wasn't human. Oh, what the hell? At least I'm not bored.>
Slipping quietly through the door to The Magic Box, Xander waived off the questions from Willow, Giles and Dawn. He had to catch his breath first. "I need to make a phone call," he said. The nod from Giles gave him the go-ahead, while at the same time silently asking after Buffy. "Wait a second," Xander whispered as he dialed the number burned in his memory.
"I'm trying to reach General Hammond or Colonel O'Neill. It's urgent. In a meeting and unavailable? Damn. Ok… write this down and show it to Hammond or O'Neill ASAP. Do you understand? The message is as follows: Omega – Zero – Four – Niner – One – Tango. Snake in Sunnydale. Contact Harris at the following." Xander then gave the phone number and address for The Magic Box. "Repeat that back to me… that was not a request, Airman. Repeat it back… <now>. Thank you."
Hanging up the phone, Xander turned around to face the rest of the Scoobies, looking into the eyes of the Slayer. On one hand, she looked rather upset. On the other, the open letter in her right hand and the fact that she wasn't trying to kill him made him think that the part of her familiar with tactical matters understood the reason for Xander's actions. While she wasn't too fond of them, she seemed to be accepting them… and waiting for an explanation.
Looking at him, she held out her left hand, holding a padlock that was still attached to… something. "Hey, Xander," she said, "I think your storage unit might need a new door."
It was a concerned General Hammond who met SG-1 in the Gateroom.
"Welcome back, SG-1. Colonel O'Neill, we need to talk. Everyone else, report to the infirmary. We'll debrief in an hour."
SG-1, leaving the Gateroom, didn't see the note that Hammond handed to Jack. They didn't see Jack's face pale… and they didn't see the pair head through the Control Room and up the stairs toward the General's office.
Jack's mind was only half-aware of the debrief on planet PX… something, barely even recognizing the fact that his teammates were describing the most recent mission. It wasn't like there was all that much to describe, since absolutely <nothing> had happened. Jack had more important things to worry about – like his earlier conversation with the General.
<"Jack, this message was phoned in to the SGC just over two hours ago, coming directly to the main switchboard… by way of the **unlisted** number. Whoever this person is didn't just look up the contact information for Deep Space Radar Telemetry; he knew who he was calling. Now, that, normally, wouldn't be a problem."
"But…?"
"The caller's name isn't ringing any bells with me – neither is the code that he used. The message itself… would lead me to believe that there is a Goa'uld in southern California. Since the message was addressed to **both** of us… take a look."
Curious, O'Neill took the message, reading it. Face paling, he read it again, and then a third time. Walking toward the General's office, Jack continually re-read the message, only one thought on his mind. **How?**
"Jack?"
Shutting the office door behind him, O'Neill answered, **"Harris** isn't familiar, and that's definitely **not** an SGC code – you already knew that – but I recognize it. Sir, in Iraq…" He paused a moment.
"I know what happened, Jack, You were captured and spent four months as a **guest** of the Iraqi military before escaping."
"Ah… well… speaking of that escape… I…ah… oh, hell. I got out of the </i>camp<i> on my own, yes, but I hadn't even made it more than a couple hundred yards before the rest of the guards figured out I was missing. If you want the truth, I was damned lucky. Intel had figured out where I was, and they sent in a second team to come get me. If that team hadn't been coming in at that **exact** time… I would have either been dead or wishing that I was. I was **lucky,** and nothing but. Anyway…"
He paused for a moment. "Anyway," he continued, "I figured I owed them, so if they ever needed someone to save their asses like they saved mine… this code was a call for backup, sir."
"And Harris?"
"I don't know, General. I have no idea how he could have gotten a hold of this or how he could know what the Goa'uld are. There was no one named Harris on the retrieval team. Actually, at the moment, there is no retrieval team, period. There's no one left. Two of the five died while working here – Kawalski and Ferretti. The third died in a car crash, the fourth in a barroom brawl… and the fifth… well, that was a little strange. Apparently, he was killed by someone with a vampire fetish – two holes in the neck and no blood in the body. Anyway, I can't see any of them mentioning this to someone else. All of it was classified."
"You're concerned about a possible security breach, then?"
"Among other things, though I'm a hell of a lot **more** worried that this caller is right and there really **is** a Goa'uld loose on the planet.">
"Jack?"
There was no response from Colonel O'Neill, still lost in thought.
"Colonel!"
His head snapped up and he realized that while he'd been remembering <that> conversation, he'd obviously missed something in <this> one.
"Sir?"
Hammond shook his head. "Brief your team, Colonel. It looks like you're going to California."
<I should be angry>, Buffy thought, dropping the padlock on to the table – along with the portion of the door still <attached> to said padlock.
Xander's eyes asked for forgiveness but held no apology… and she understood why. The letter that he'd written earlier in the day – after failing to convince her to stay behind while he went scouting – explained his reasons. <And he did it without actually revealing anything he wasn't supposed to – gotta admire that, right?>
The nod she gave him was from one warrior to another, acknowledging and accepting his reasons. The truth was that he <i>had</i> tried to talk her out of going… and what he'd ultimately done had been the only remaining method of keeping her out of harm's way. It galled her to think that there was something the Scoobies might not be able to handle – they <had< just defeated a Hell god, after all – but if Xander was right…
Unfolding the page in her hand, she read the letter again.
<Buffy, If you're reading this right now, either we're laughing our asses off… many years from now, or you're pissed at me. I'm hoping that I've managed to talk you out of going on recon and that this letter is now useless. If I haven't, then you're most likely locked in my storage unit, in the basement of my apartment building.
If there had been any other way, Buffy, I would have taken it. I know that you won't have a hard time getting out – the door wasn't exactly built with you in mind, after all – but by the time you do, Spike and I should be out of sight… and out of "spidey-sense" range.
So, why didn't I want you to follow? That one's easy, Buff-ster. Spike's words have stirred a few of soldier guy's memories, and if the leader is what I think he/she is, I can guarantee that we don't have the equipment or the training needed to eliminate the threat. I've got the knowledge… or rather, HE does, but improvising an attack plan with these guys isn't always the best idea. And, well… with them, being captured is a hell of a lot worse than being dead. If they take Spike, I suspect that they would kill him – it would be a mercy. If they capture me… well, it's been a good life. If they get YOU, then we've all got a problem.
If they get Willow and/or Tara, the world is pretty much fucked – sorry about the language, but soldier guy's memories were pretty damn clear on what these things do to people… and they could do a lot of damage with a witch or two on their side, however unwilling.
And then there's Giles, with his knowledge of magic… and what might as well be an index to the entirety of the Watcher store of knowledge in his head. He may not know every detail, but I'd be surprised if he doesn't generally know where to find it.
Buffy, I locked you in, made you stay, because if I don't get back, you need to take Giles, Tara, Willow and Dawn and get as far away from Sunnydale and this cult as possible. There is contact information at the bottom of this letter – a phone number, some names, and a few things you need to say. If I don't make it back tonight, CALL these people, recite what I've written there.
There is a box in my apartment, hidden in a crawlspace between my floor and the ceiling of the apartment below mine. In the morning, bring Willow with you (she has a key), and get the box. You have to go to the closet in my bedroom. Move the footlocker (gotta love military surplus). Underneath is a door (sort of – it's not exactly in the original building blueprints). Open it, and the box is right there. It's magically sealed, but Wills can open it. Make the call AFTER you have the box. Arrange a time to meet with either of the officers named… anywhere other than Sunnydale. When one or both of them show, hand over the contents of the box. The key thing is the notebook… it's right on top.
Anyway, that's the best I can do right now, other than pray that I make it back in one piece. Stay safe, Buffy. LIVE. You save the world on a regular basis… but if I'm right… this is an entirely different game than we're used to dealing with. Please… listen to me and do as I've asked. Make sure they're safe.
Love, Your Xander-shaped friend>
It was hours before Buffy could bring herself to get some sleep, curled up on Giles' living room couch. Her mind whirled and her gaze wandered between the letter and the box – Xander had retrieved it himself when everyone had decided to crash at the Watcher's place, saying that he didn't feel comfortable sleeping without knowing it was safe. Buffy had a suspicion that they would need whatever was in it soon, anyway. Giles had given Willow and Tara his bedroom for the night and had stretched out in the den. Anya rested in the comfortable chair, feet up on the ottoman.
Xander had chosen a simple space on the floor, making a bed out of a few blankets. Buffy couldn't help but notice that his space had a clear view of the door… and that Dawn had chosen to curl up at his back, trusting in her surrogate older brother to keep her safe from the demons only he knew about.
Spike, being wide awake, simply elected to grab the paper and some dinner and make himself at home at the kitchen table.
Early the next morning, long before the shop was due to open, Giles was back at the main table. The sign he'd placed in the window stated clearly that the shop would be closed for the next few days, and he'd surrounded himself with research, not certain what he was looking for, but needing to do <something>.
His focus was jarred somewhat when Xander – who had entered unnoticed by the Watcher – placed a cup of tea on the table next to the older man's hand. "Thank you, Xander."
Xander simply nodded, his focus on the door, where three sharp raps had just sounded. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but Giles had no trouble hearing him. "They're here."
"Xander, how are you sure it isn't…"
"Someone who can't read the sign and thinks we might just be open at 5:30am?" Xander's smile alerted Giles that the younger man was not truly being hostile, just releasing some steam.
"Odds are that they're the people we need to see," Xander continued as Giles moved toward the door.
"No one called to…"
"They wouldn't, Giles. They don't know us from Adam – wait, bad analogy. Anyway, they don't know us, they won't trust us, and they're not going to give us a heads-up as to when they'll be here. It's them."
With one last look toward Xander, Giles unlocked the door to the shop. He had barely opened the door before Xander heard Daniel's voice. <I'm not even going to wonder how I knew it was Jackson. If I hadn't accepted these quirks already, they'd be driving me nuts.> Of course, Xander had to admit that of all the things he thought the Egyptologist might say, what actually came out of Daniel's mouth wasn't one of them.
"Oh. Apparently, I was wrong, and there <is> some reason that a former curator of the British Museum would decide to open a magic shop in Sunnydale. Hello, Rupert."
"Daniel… it's a pleasure to see you again, though I must admit to being somewhat confused."
"Was it too much to hope that there might be two people named Rupert Giles in the world? Not that I'm not happy to see you, but… this is strange."
"Quite. I'm presuming you would like to come in?"
"Yes," Jack said, breaking in to the conversation. "Yes, actually, we would."
Giles ushered the four people through the doorway, closing it again behind me. Xander could almost smell the tension in the air, the feel that was almost electric and was making his muscles tense in preparation for a fight. <Not gonna happen today,> he thought. <Not if I can help it.>
Silently, he identified them all… and he made the introductions to Giles. It was better that they know right off that <he>, not Giles, was the potential security risk. There would that bit of anxiety out of the way, at least.
"G-man," he said, pausing long enough to see the team's collective gaze come to settle on him. "I gather you already know Dr. Jackson. I'll probably be saying this again as soon as everyone else is awake, but… To your right is Colonel Jack O'Neill – two L's – permanent fixture in the Air Force whether he likes it or not. I'm convinced that if he tries to retire yet again, they'll just keep bringing him back until he gives up on the idea. Next to him is Captain Samantha Carter…" He saw the look O'Neill gave him at that.
"Is it Major, now?" O'Neill and Carter nodded. "Sorry about that… <Major> Samantha Carter, brilliant astrophysicist. You already know Dr. Jackson. The imposing one in the back is…" He paused again, not sure if Teal'c wanted to use his true name or was going by something else. O'Neill filled in the silence.
"Murray. His name's Murray."
"Well," Giles said. At a loss as to how to start this conversation, or even if he should, he settled for asking them if they wanted breakfast.
"I've already put coffee on, G-man. There are days when dealing with an un-caffeinated Buffy just isn't worth it… and this is one of them."
"Quite. Thank you, Xander."
"Hey, Giles… as long as you're fixing breakfast, I'd gladly take some." He turned to look at the team. "I promise, he's not gonna slip anything into the food that shouldn't be there. I'll even taste-test it if you're not sure." O'Neill wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or relieved that the young man appeared serious.
Giles headed into the kitchen, not really needing to know the team's answer. Whatever they didn't eat, the Scoobies would. <Ah, well>, he thought. <They're entitled to it. They do work it off, after all.>
Alone now with the team, Xander knew this was his chance to explain things without the risk of the Scoobies overhearing… anything they shouldn't. He smiled at the team, more or less at ease with these people, as if part of him knew them… as if part of him had been in that team, in that group of friends, at one point. <And part of me has, so it makes sense in a weird way.>
He wasn't quite sure how to start the conversation, at first… but he knew that he wanted to have a chance to explain before O'Neill got too protective of his people and started in with the interrogation.
"In case you haven't guessed, sir," he said, speaking to O'Neill and automatically using the honorific. "My name is Alexander Harris – everyone calls me Xander. I placed the call that got you here, though… given that code, I'm kind of surprised that Kawalsky didn't insist on coming." The look on the Colonel's face gave Xander the answer to the question he hadn't quite asked.
"Ah… damn. I'm presuming that I either don't want to know how… or you can't tell me right now." O'Neill nodded, waiting – patiently, for him – for Xander to continue.
"I'm not going to fill you in on the other people who are here right now. That can wait until they're awake… and until they let me know what they're comfortable sharing, though if you've had checks run on us, you probably know a fair bit, anyway."
"I'm not exactly hearing any answers here, Harris."
"You haven't asked any questions, Colonel, but I know what you mean. I heard the first rumors of the cult yesterday, from a contact. I wouldn't call him a friend, but he has his moments. The way he described it made me… uneasy, so I went with him last night to check things out." Xander was avoiding the questions burning in the Colonel's eyes. <Explaining some of this is really going to be a bitch later, but I don't want to get into the magic-demon-vampire side of things until at least Willow is awake. It probably won't be pretty… but who knows? Maybe I'll be unbelievably lucky and find out that they're already familiar with some of the joys of the Hellmouth. Maybe?>
"I got there, stayed out of eyesight – they <were> armed, after all – and just watched for a while. They're building a temple, Colonel… the inscriptions on the walls are in cuneiform – ancient Sumerian… which is kind of weird when you think about it."
"Weirder than finding any other temple with Sumerian inscriptions?"
"Well, yes, Dr. Jackson. Sumerian inscriptions, but the… cult leader… was using the Babylonian form of her name."
"Wait, wait… the background check didn't say anything about you studying archaeology."
"I didn't, Jack," Xander responded, not noticing Teal'c's raised eyebrow… or his own slip of the tongue. "I just have a fair amount of books at home that I read on my own time. My friends would think the world had suddenly turned inside out if they knew that I studied this stuff on my own. School and I never really did the mixing thing."
"Sumeric inscriptions, Babbling name… got it."
<I will not laugh>, Xander thought. <I will not laugh… I wonder if he does that on purpose?>
"Look," Xander said, "I know you don't trust me… I know you're worried about where I got this information, but right this minute, what I know about <deep space radar telemetry> really isn't important. What's important is that that cult leader – going by the name Ishtar – is most definitely a snakehead, right down to the glowing eyes and extreme lack of clothing. Self-proclaimed goddess of love, procreation and war – or vengeance, depending on the translation. Well, that at least explains why the mercs are mixing with the academics. Question now is… where do we go from here? What proof do you want? How the hell do I get her away from Sunnydale – and preferably the rest of the planet, too?"
<Okay, this kid has about five minutes before I start coming down hard. How the **hell** could he know about that code, and Goa'uld… and why was he expecting Kawalsky? He seems to know a hell of a lot of other things he shouldn't, so why didn't he know that Kawalsky is dead… and why did he think that Carter was still a captain? Something is definitely off.>
The kid – Xander – seemed to focus on the sounds coming from the kitchen. <Is he making sure that we can't be heard? If he's worried about that, why are we here and not somewhere a little more secure?> For a moment, Jack's eyes met Xander's… and in that second of shocking clarity, Jack realized that though he may look young, Harris had been through years of hell. This man knew what it was to fight in defense of everyone he loved. O'Neill acknowledged that… but out of concern for his own team, refused to relax his guard.
He was about to speak to Harris again when a noise caught his attention – and Xander's. Oblivious to the extra people sitting at the table, a teenage girl wandered out of some sort of back room – <bedroom or den?>. Jack realized that she was probably still half-asleep, and he focused his attention on the interaction between the girl and this… unusual… young man.
Xander stood and approached the younger woman. "Dawnie," he whispered, "you should still be asleep."
"Huh-uh," she mumbled. "Woke up, and you weren't there, and I didn't feel safe anymore. You're the only one who knows what the trouble is, so you're the only one who knows how to keep us safe. Wouldn't worry so much if it were vampires or demons… no big."
Xander, after a quick glance at SG-1, put his hands on her shoulders and gently directed her toward the kitchen. "Giles is fixing breakfast now, short stuff. Why don't you go see if he needs any help, ok?"
"Mm-hmm… sure."
After she had disappeared through the kitchen door, he turned back around to face the team. It was only then that Jack noticed he was barefoot and realized just <how> early they had come knocking – not that losing a little sleep mattered next to getting rid of a Goa'uld.
Jack saw that the younger man – silent again – was scrutinizing him, looking for something in his expression. "What?"
"How much of that did you hear?"
"Pretty much everything, Harris – demons, vampires… got it."
"Ok… most people would be shocked by a comment like that."
"Well, <most people> don't have access to Congressional Oversight Committee records related to you, this little group, and an interesting little project known as the Initiative."
"Point." He sat down again, apparently a little less tense than he had been. "Do you believe what you read?"
"I have to admit, it was a little freaky." Daniel couldn't quite hold back a snicker, and Xander thought there had to be a story in that. "<A little freaky>," O'Neill continued, "but I've seen worse. What I'd like know is how someone without any kind of clearance is aware of this stuff."
"That, Colonel, is a very long story… and I know you need to hear all of it, but so do some members of my group. That, and I need to make sure that certain people are out of hearing range."
"We're up, Xan-man," Buffy said from somewhere behind him. "We were lured out by the smell of something resembling food. Where's Dawn?"
"In the kitchen with Giles… and Spike."
"Ah… the ears you don't trust."
"He's useful, Buffster, but – if he still had one – he would sell his own mother to get that chip out of his head. I can't let him hear the things that are going to be mentioned today."
"Oh, that's not a problem, Xander." O'Neill raised an eyebrow at the woman behind the Vampire Slayer. He didn't remember seeing a photo of her in the file. <Hmm.> "I'll take him to my apartment," she continued. "We can watch <Passions> and mock the characters. They aren't supposed to be typical examples of humanity, are they?"
Xander's mouth twitched, almost turning up in a smile. "No, Anya, they aren't. Although, if you really want to watch a show with people you can mock, you should try to see when the next episode of <Jerry Springer> is on. If ever there were people begging to be ridiculed… man…"
"Ooh, I'll have to remember that. Thank you. I'll go grab Spike now and take him out when there are still some shadows and things and we can get to his car. Come on, Spike," she yelled, venturing into the kitchen.
Gathering from the conversation that Spike was <definitely> a security risk – <and possibly a vampire>, he thought – Jack waited for the few short moments it should take to get him elsewhere. At least, he hoped they were short. His fingers started tapping on the table, and if it weren't for the fact that there was a kid in the kitchen, he might have started cleaning the P-90… just to give his hands something to do, of course. Instead, he chose to contemplate the other unfamiliar person in the room – Elizabeth "Buffy" Summers, the Vampire Slayer.
She was… shorter… than he'd expected, and didn't look like she'd be able to take down <Daniel>, much less a vampire. However, he knew better than to underestimate a potential threat… or to underestimate Danny, for that matter. <And what I've read about her says she's anything but a push-over. But what I've read about Harris doesn't match what I'm seeing. Who wrote these reports, anyway?>
Shaking his head, he took another look at the Slayer. <Cute… young enough to be my daughter, and there's no possible way she could be as intelligent as Carter, but cute. There has to be something more to her than that, though. There has to be something more about all of these people that the reports just don't touch.>
He ran through the checklist in his head – Buffy Summers, already scrutinized… sort of.
Rupert Giles – <Danny has a point there. Why is a former museum curator – fascinated with history and probably Daniel's damn rocks – running a magic shop? The reports called him a father figure for the group, but if that's all he is, then **I'm** a spacemonkey's uncle.> Jack chuckled for a minute before getting back to his thoughts.
Willow Rosenberg – <That must be her coming into the room now… the redhead. She's as easy to underestimate as the Slayer, noted as being the research expert of the group. The file said she belonged to a campus… Wicca?… group. Wonder if that's what I think it is, and if she's still in it? That particular part of the report is a little out of date, after all.>
Xander Harris – <Well, I've already discovered that the reports don't tell me Jack-shit of consequence about him – nothing on family, little on what he does in this group. Even that, given what I've seen just in the last few minutes, is completely off base. Hell, the other two people mentioned in the check – Dawn Summers and Tara Maclay – were barely more than footnotes – complete unknowns. This is gonna be a riot.>