<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!" **Wait a minute, was that my voice?**>
<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. Hi 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. They were strong the first few months, but they went away. **They went away!!** So why are they back now?> The young man ran his hands through his dark hair, kicking off sweat-soaked sheets. <Hey,> he thought, chuckling slightly, <maybe it has something to do with fighting a goddess. Gee, Harris, you think?> 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 Jonathan (Jack) O'Neill. He's already in here. From what I can gather, he's a very… interesting… guy. Note to self: Never cross him. Military Guy liked him, though. Then again, they watched each other's backs often enough.
Dr. Daniel Jackson – already here, brilliant anthropologist and linguist. Giles would like him.
Kawalsky… strange that I can miss someone I've never met.
The rest of the names, though… they're 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, noted to stand for 'StarGate Command.' And 'Hammond,' well… Hammond was someone Xander would never want to piss off.
<'Death-gliders' is a new term, though. Those things didn't show up the last time I had these damn dreams. They're an excellent tool if someone's looking for an instrument of terror – and *that* sounds like the Military Guy coming through, not that I mind, most of the time. 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 when he'd become something other than the goofy Scooby. Going through the motions that would normally calm him, he let his mind wonder – not for the first time – to the idea of telling the other Scoobies everything that had happened that night.
<Would they accept me? They accept 'Donut Guy.' They accept 'Key Guy.' I know that, but would they understand that this wasn't an instant thing? That I had to completely dump the 'zeppo' image when I was alone, so that I could work on these skills and actually do something with the knowledge that was in my head? That won't even be the problem. The problem will be that I never let them know what was going on.>
Finishing the kata – and not feeling much better than he had beforehand – Xander rolled and stored the mat. After a shower and a 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. <God, my head is killing me. Those dreams scramble whatever is left of my sanity. And, as it turns out, the shouting really isn't helping.> Boxing away any sense of self-preservation, he stepped between the two sisters, taking both of them by the hand and leading them to the table.
They followed him without protest, still shouting. Xander didn't wince, but the pounding in his head intensified and his face paled another shade. He took a deep breath, and then spoke in a voice that would have made any Drill Instructor proud.
"Enough! Both of you, sit down!" The young man kept from flinching at his own tone of voice, ignoring the shocked looks the sisters were giving him as they complied with his order.
"Dawn," he said, softening his tone of voice when the shouting stopped. "Buffy is your sister, but she is also the Slayer. This, by nature, makes her exceedingly over-protective. She's not trying to control you; she's trying to keep you safe. I know you miss your mother, Dawn. We all miss her, but she was <your> mother and you want her back. I can understand that. So can Buffy. But… she was Buffy's mom, too. You aren't the only person here who would give anything to have her living and breathing again, and I wish that I could change everything so that she was here, but I can't do that. I'm not the Big Guy, and I don't want to be."
He took a deep breath and turned to Buffy. "Buffy, the same thing goes for you. You're not the only one hurting here. Dawn is, too, and she doesn't have as many memories of Joyce as you do. Share them with her. Talk things over. Buffy, Dawn is not a child. No one who knows what really goes on in this town could be. Accept that you cannot keep her safe and completely away from the evils of this world and this town… but you <can> teach her how to be safer. Teach her and let her make her own choices with the tools you've given her. You're her sister, Buffy, not her warden."
He took another deep breath, enjoying the silence that had permeated the store since he began to speak to the two. "Just to wrap this thing up… I trust you both. I love you both. You are not going through this alone, because all of us – Giles, Willow, Tara and yours truly – are here for you. You're family, and that's not going to change. That's largely a positive thing. The down-side of it is that – Dawn – if you take the trust we've given you and actively decide to do something stupid, we will all ground you until you hit thirty. Does everyone understand me, here?"
Dawn laughed a little at Xander's last statement, despite his serious tone. Xander could hear her softly muttering something about being grounded by the <entire> Scooby Gang – that, and strange mental pictures. The laughter dissipated the remainder of the tension and Buffy got back to work in The Magic Box.
Xander rested his head in his hands and let the complete silence wash over him. Noting Giles standing by the front counter, he broke the silence to ask, "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. 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. His eyes drifted closed of their own accord, shutting out the brightly lit room.
Images rolled through his head again, and 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 nine, 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 do anything for either the headache or his mental state.
"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. "I didn't sleep well, got stuff on my mind, had a nightmare last night… pretty much 'same old, same old' for Sunnydale."
Xander, keeping his eyes closed, heard the door shut, but didn't realize Giles had moved to sit next to him until he heard the whisper of cloth rubbing on the wall and felt the Watcher touch his shoulder. "Xander." He paused, nervously. Xander thought that if he opened his eyes, he might see Giles cleaning his glasses. <You gotta love the old habits.>
"Xander," Giles continued. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about whatever is on your mind?"
The younger man sighed. "I'd love to, Giles, but some of those things aren't mine to reveal… and some of them… Well, some of them could lose me my friends, and I've been debating for a long, <long> time about how I should talk about this, and even <if> I should talk about it. It's complicated."
He could still feel the Watcher's hand on his shoulder, and would guess that the older man was watching his face and doing some mental debating of his own. He waited – silent and worried – for Giles to speak.
"Xander… are these secrets any threat to Buffy, Willow, Tara or Dawn?"
"Absolutely not, Giles. In fact, some of them have helped the Scooby Gang a great deal, especially when it came to getting rid of a certain mayor."
"They have to do with your soldier memories, then?"
"Yeah." Opening his eyes finally, Xander could see the somewhat confused look on Giles' face.
"Why on earth would anything about Halloween and those memories make us turn our backs on you?"
"I never told you everything that was going on, G-man, didn't let you know the full effect of Rayne's spell, about the knowledge, the dreams… some of it I still can't tell you, because it would endanger people that he knows." Xander's voice faded to a near-whisper, and Giles leaned in closer so as to catch what the younger man was saying.
"And I lied to you… After graduation, I told you that the memories were fading, that I was forgetting what I'd had downloaded into my head that night. But only the dreams were fading. The knowledge was still there, and I worked on my own to increase it. The dreams were gone, so I didn't think I needed to talk to anyone about it, but… now they're back. They're worse than before. Part of me wants to tell you guys everything. The other part of me, the one worried about his team, his oaths, his cause… that part wants me to keep my mouth shut and keep going as I have been. That part says the dreams will fade again, in time… but they weren't supposed to come back in the first place."
Throughout Xander's monologue, Giles sat silently listening. Xander had no way of knowing what he was thinking, no way of judging his mood, so all that was left was to sit and wait for some response, a response that could either be supportive… or start him down a road that would lead to him parting ways with the Scoobies.
"What would you say to a compromise?"
"What kind of compromise, Giles?"
"Talk to me… but leave the names out of it, if you feel the secrets aren't yours to tell. But, Xander, the way you're speaking… it's almost as though you have the memories of a specific individual."
Xander's eyes locked with his own, and he silently nodded. Looking towards the door – <is he verifying that I locked it?> – he sighed, and began to speak. Giles could see the darkened circles beneath his eyes – evidence of several nights without proper sleep – and prayed that he would soon hear what had been bothering the young man.
"That Halloween, Giles… you know the one I'm talking about. I bought the toy from Rayne's shop, but I already had the fatigues… found them at a military surplus shop a couple months before that. They were cheap, and I thought good old G.I. Joe would make for a halfway decent costume for handing out candy to the kiddies – not that I was actually going to be doing that from my place, but I was thinking that a Scooby party would be cool. Now, pardon me while I try to stop channeling Willow."
"Anyway," he continued, apparently oblivious to the worried looks the Watcher was casting in his direction. "The fatigues were used, donated or sold – I'm not sure which – by the Air Force officer in question when he went through his stuff and realized that he was a little taller than he was when he wore them at the Academy. When the spell kicked in, I wasn't just any regular soldier-guy. I was <him.>"
Giles indulged in a moment of shocked silence, wondering if Xander's headache was contagious, as he could feel one of his own beginning to throb just behind his eyes. "Oh, dear. I have to say that I've never heard of that particular twist to the spell that Ethan used."
"Yeah, well, it was a bit of a shock to me, too, Giles."
"Of course, of course. When you say that you <were> him… do you mean…?"
"Everything except physically, G-man. I don't remember every single little thing about his life, and I get his missions in bits and pieces… usually in dreams."
"And you've demonstrated some of the skills quite admirably since then. So far… I'm not seeing a problem."
"Alright." Xander paused, seeming to be seeking just the right words. "I'm not sure if the rest of you will look at this the same way, but think of it like this. One night, I find this guy. He's strong, dedicated, loyal to his country and his comrades in arms. He says that he's willing to teach me, but I don't really have a choice in which lessons I'll learn and which ones I'll ignore. It's sort of an all or nothing deal. I know that some of the skills he can teach me would be useful to you guys, so I can't make myself ignore him. But… there is a price. Every moment of horror he has lived, I have either seen or will see in my dreams."
Giles was sure that Xander could see the confusion on his face, the silent prompting for more information. He could hear vague murmurings from the main part of the store, customers meandering about and asking questions of his assistant/Slayer, but he ignored them. This… was absolutely intriguing.
A slight, sarcastic smile lifted the corner of Xander's mouth. "You don't quite understand that, do you, G-man? He – Military Guy – spent the last year or two of his life fighting something I pray to God we never see here. I fear them more than Order of Taraka, more than the opening of the Hellmouth… more than I ever feared my father. And it really <sucks> that I can't tell you anything about it."
Giles said nothing, waiting. He couldn't push Xander on this issue and he knew it. <Aside from that, what precisely does one say in response to someone saying there is something more fearsome than Armageddon?>
"I would probably be flipping… completely out of my mind… if not for the fact that somehow, the most important of his lessons got through to me, so that I <could> learn the rest. He was a consummate martial artist <before> he joined the military. The katas he used… the ones I learned…" He paused here, remembering. "The katas I learned are the same ones that I used to help me cope with all the shit that happens here. Buffy beats the shit out of things. Willow finds the bright side. You either research or go all Ripper on someone's ass. I either calm down with the katas and find a sense of balance… or I switch into using the moves he learned in Spec Ops and purge any possible hint of repressed anger. What can I say? It's therapeutic." Xander's smile here was sardonic and slightly dark. It was, Giles realized suddenly, a look which he had seen quite often before… on his own face.
"Xander… why haven't we ever seen you use these combat skills on patrol? I'd think they would be quite useful, there."
"They weren't exactly automatic, Giles. I had the knowledge, but at first my body was in no shape to make use of about 95% of it. I could do the basics, yes, but the stuff that would have been effective against vampires – in terms of hand-to-hand – would have hurt <me,> as well. Here… is an enemy that is stronger, faster, and – in many occasions – appearing in greater numbers. Hack and slash and bar brawl tactics aren't really the most intelligent in this situation."
Xander shook his head. Giles didn't know what he was thinking, but whatever it was…
"I can't say anymore than this right now, Giles. I don't know how to make you understand what's going on in my head. It's not just a matter of someone else's life. I <know> this man – as if he was a friend, a teacher, a mentor. I dream <his life.> In the dreams… he dies, Giles. <Every> dream I've had since we fought Glory has ended in his death. The beginning changes – different moments from his missions – but the end is always the same."
Giles waited for Xander to take a breath, watching him carefully. The Watcher himself breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Xander pause and consciously seek to slow his breathing… to calm himself.
"The first dreams," Xander continued, "the ones that went away… they were dreams of mission to countries we weren't supposed to be in… and some stuff from Desert Storm. There were a few things from the <early> days of his last project. They threw me a little, but they were nothing compared to these. I can't even begin to explain them, even if I was willing to go into detail. I just don't have the words for it, Giles. I can't… I can't say anymore right now."
Giles could see a balance in the younger man's eyes – exhaustion and determination, fear tempered by knowledge. He couldn't hold back the pride that welled up in him as he saw the strength that Xander had developed, couldn't help but marvel at the changes that five years had wrought. He wanted to say something to bring Xander comfort, but words failed him, so he settled for laying his hand on the young man's shoulder. The two shared a look, and the next words to come out of Xander's were so soft that Giles could barely hear them.
"Giles," he whispered, "I need to think about a few things. Would you give me some time, here, and make sure that Buffy stays away for a little while? If she asks… just tell her that I'm having a chat with a punching bag."
"Is that what you'll be doing… truthfully?"
That sarcastic grin made another appearance – just for a moment. "More or less."
Once Giles had left the room, Xander re-locked the door, running a hand over the smooth wood, and cherishing the feel of it. For all that this place had needed a bit of work when Giles first set up shop, it had come together nicely. <These dreams have gone on too long, he thought. They're not even **my** dreams. Three months… ever since we fought that Hell-bitch… three months and they just won't stop.> He slipped off his sandals and sank to his knees on the main exercise mat. His back straightened and he stared blankly at the opposite wall.
<Ok… now what? I can sit here – well, kneel here – and feel positively shitty and confused and tired. I can do something about it. I'd prefer the second option, but then the question becomes one of **what** I'm going to do, rather than if I'm going to do anything at all.> Uncertain of his path, Xander did the only thing that came to mind… fell back into Military Guy's training, <his> training.
Xander lost himself in the other man's memories, but was conscious enough of the movements to realize that the style was his – logical, considering that he thought of M.G. more as his teacher than… well, someone who shared head-space. Given M.G.'s fight against the Goa'uld, that last thought was actually a little creepy.
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.
In the end, his mind was calm… but still less than clear on his course of action. He stepped off the mat and gathered his sandals, unlocking the door and heading into the main part of the shop.
"Are you all right, Xander?"
"Yeah, Giles. The workout helped."
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Buffy finishing up a sale and looking in his direction. Once the customer had left, she moved toward him. "What's up, Xan-man?"
"Not much," he said. <How much do I tell her? Now is **not** the right time for this.>
"You're looking a little more of the frazzled than usual."
"Yeah, well," he said with a smile, "taking my life in my hands by stepping in between the Slayer and her sis will do that."
"Oh, Xander, did we scare you?" Her tone was the most teasing he'd heard in a while and it lifted his heart to see that the responsibilities hadn't completely decimated her sense of humor.
"Nah, I'm good. You know me… see the end of the world a few times and then nothing scares me."
"Yeah, right, Xan. Not that I mind, but why did you happen to stop by at just the right moment to stop that little explosion in the making between me and Dawn?"
"Woke up, couldn't get back to sleep, thought I would see if there was anything that needs slayage tonight, or any research that needs done."
She smiled a bit, quietly greeting an incoming customer, and then turned back to Xander while the customer browsed. "Well," she said, "that explains why you're up so early when you don't have to work."
"What can I say… my sleep schedule and my work schedule don't always like to cooperate when I actually have time off. Anyway, Giles?"
"Yes, Xander?"
"<Was> there anything you needed me to work on today?"
The Watcher glanced toward him, his mind seeming to be preoccupied – with what, Xander couldn't tell. "What? Oh, no… no, everything's looking fairly normal today, thanks."
"No problem, G-man. Oh, by the way, everyone's invited to my place for dinner tonight. I've got this recipe for chicken cacciatore that I'm trying to perfect. Don't worry, though, I have a backup plan in case it doesn't end up quite like I have in mind." <Backup plan? What backup plan? I didn't even know I was going to invite them to dinner until just now. Oh, well… haven't had much time to spend with them lately, anyway, so I might as well take advantage of it.>
Giles nodded. "What time?"
"Seven-ish. And you don't have to bring anything… I'm good."
"Alright then. I accept."
"Buffster?"
"Xander, there are very few things that would keep me from seeing you cook… and hopefully, none of them will happen tonight."
Dawn chimed in from further back in the store, where she was shelving a new shipment of books. "And if it does, we'll all end up together anyway."
"True enough, Dawnie… true enough. I'll call Willow and Tara and issue the invite. See you tonight, all. Time to go study if I want to get this right."
As he walked through the door, keys in hand, he could just barely hear Dawn's voice. "Did he say he was going to study?"
Xander, having just finished putting away the groceries, sat down at the wooden desk he had crafted. Removing the bottom drawer in the desk, he revealed the space he'd built into the base. Hidden by the drawer under normal circumstances, the space – nine inches high by fifteen inches wide, by thirty inches deep – was just the right size to fit a box he'd made. With gentle hands, he lifted the box from its padded resting place and set it on the desk surface for just long enough to replace the drawer, leaving no sign that it had ever been removed.
Taking the box, Xander moved to sit on the couch. Opening it, he removed the notebook that he had placed there before leaving that morning and flipped through it, noting the dates and entries. <Every dream, every thought, every move.> He ran his fingers gently over the sketches. He'd never been particularly skilled when it came to drawing, but these were stick figures… illustrations of movements… both combat and traditional techniques. He wasn't sure whether his work in construction had made it easier to sketch the movements, or whether sketching the movements had made it easier to understand building blueprints and construction plans. He shrugged it off, and counted it as part of a long, continuing learning process.
It was not the notebook, however, that was his most cherished possession. No, <that> lay in the bottom of the box. The set of fatigues – while worn – showed evidence of having been cared for, folded and stored as carefully as though it was a Class A dress uniform that had belonged to a family member. As far as Xander was concerned, it might as well have been. Running his hands over the space where a nametag should have been, he sighed, both grateful and grieved for the knowledge his friend had brought… and a life cut too short. Setting the box aside for a moment, he picked up the notebook once more, running his fingers over the name he had written in the back cover – Ferretti, Louis (Maj. – USAF).
Xander sat there for a few more minutes, not thinking of anything for the moment than the incredible gift that he had been given that Halloween, despite the nightmares. Did Ethan Rayne truly know what had emerged from that night of chaos? Gently placing the notebook on top of the fatigues, Xander closed the box and placed it back into its custom-made home. Willow had said she would be over soon.
It had been a while since the two had had one of their 'best bud' talks.
Really <looking> at Xander's apartment for the first time, Willow saw the hints of previously unnoticed 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 bedroom, hair still wet from the shower he'd taken just prior to Willow's arrival. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a form-fitting black tee shirt… all of which made no visible impact on Willow… she was too busy looking 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 full smile since he woke up that morning – he made his way over to her. "So, bestest bud of mine, what's on your mind?"
"Umm… nothing, really, though I was kind of surprised by the exercise stuff… and, well, the books. Can I look at these while we do the lunch thing… and maybe just chat about life in general – school, construction, you know?"
"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 double-check his supplies for the evening 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?>
Coming back a few minutes with sandwiches and drinks, Xander sank down on the couch beside his best friend, setting the food on the coffee table. "Willow?" There was no response. "Earth to Willow."
She jumped when he tapped her on the shoulder. "Oh! Sorry, Xan. What's up?"
"Lunch. What caught your eye?"
"I spotted this paper by Dr. Daniel Jackson. It looks like it's from a presentation he gave. This is fascinating, really. He thinks that the pyramids and civilization in general are thousands of years older than conventional archaeology dates them, and theorizes that the pyramids were built by aliens. He's not the only one to voice that theory – I mean, I've read <Chariot of the Gods> and other books like it – but his argument is actually one of the most logical that I've heard… er, read… Anyway, you get the point. I didn't know you were interested in archaeology, Xan."
"Yeah." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Researching with Giles sparked an interest in a lot of things, Wills. And I've discovered that I do fine with the studying thing as long as I'm not dealing with the teachers at Sunnydale High. Besides, Archaeology was never actually <taught> at good old SunnyD."
"True, but there was history."
"And Mr. Wagner was so bored by what he was teaching that I could never understand how he expected his students to be interested."
"Well, there was that."
"Here, Wills. Eat. I made some old-fashioned PB and J." Still slightly distracted by the paper and the conversation, she barely noticed the taste of the food, and couldn't even begin to say whether it was good, bad or no different than usual.
"Here, Wills. Eat. I made some old-fashioned PB and J." <Maybe this will distract her a little. Why the hell did she have to pick **that** paper? Why didn't she choose one of the more conventional books on Egyptology and mythology or anything along those lines? For that matter, why didn't I put that paper in the box?
Silently, he watched her read, thankful that – for the moment – she was either ignoring the signs of his changed lifestyle… or simply not commenting on it.
"Hey, Xan. What's with the exercise mats?"
<Damn – spoke too soon.>
<Bloody hell. I did **not** want to run into anyone today. What the heck are they doing here, anyway?> The blond vampire stayed in the shadows – and there were plenty of them in the sewers – hoping to hear what these mortal poofs were up to.
<Well, well… what's this, then?> Feeling a dark smile stretch his face, Spike followed the newcomers closely, completely unnoticed. This was going to be interesting.
"You know, Wills, I have a perfectly reasonable answer to that… but do you think it could wait until dinner? I have a feeling that a few more people are going to want to know the answer, and I already told part of it today."
"Oh…kay."
They spent the next few hours discussing the various twists and turns their lives had taken, and generally just enjoyed each other's company – their private 'Xander and Willow' time. However, as dinner grew closer, Xander noticed that Willow was almost starting to bounce in excitement, anticipating getting the answers to her questions. The effect on him wasn't exactly reassuring, and the closer she got to bouncing, the less he spoke.
<This could go several different ways,> he thought. <And several of them aren't particularly pretty Of course, I might be a little paranoid, but damn it… I like having friends and I kinda want to keep them. Is that supposed to surprise anybody? On the flip side, everything could go just perfect, and everyone might just understand where I'm coming from… and no one will think that I'm a lying, pathetic son of a bitch. Ok, Harris, get your act together. You've faced worse than this… and it's time to get dinner started.>
By the time the Scoobies started to arrive for dinner, Xander was just short of being a nervous wreck – not that most people would have noticed. The table had been set, and the actual dinner conversation was rather run-of-the-mill. After dinner… well, that was a slightly different matter.
Willow bounced again. "Hey, Xander… can I ask now?"
He sighed, leading them into the living room and asking them all to take a seat. While his friends situated themselves, he casually picked up the various papers scattered about the room and placed them on his desk, hoping that Willow would forget to ask about one in particular.
For himself, Xander chose a bit of floor-space with access to both his front door and a living room window. <Well, you're being all bright and sunshiney today, aren't you, Harris?> "Ok, Wills," he said, "go ahead and ask, before I lose my nerve."
"Huh? Oh, well, what's with the exercise stuff… and the quarterstaff… and the actual books – of the academic variety?"
"Long version or short?"
"Oh. Long, please, Xan."
"Ok, you all remember **that** Halloween, right? The one we generally agreed was never to be revisited unless necessary? And… did anyone explain this to Tara?"
Willow nodded.
"Alright, then… I'll start out from the beginning, because it makes the most sense that way. The fatigues I was wearing weren't surplus; they were **used.** Because they were used, I ended up with the memories of a specific person – in this case, a Major in the United States Air Force. The night ended… but the memories stayed."
"Umm… Xander. We kinda knew that already. Remember – major weapon against the Judge, and the blowing up of Sunnydale High? How is this more of the weird than usual?"
"No, Buffster… I'm not talking about just some random – but advantageous – tidbits here. I've got pretty much everything – in 3-D, with some kind of digital sound system thing going on, not to mention touch, taste and smell-o-vision. Do I remember every single little thing? No. If he didn't remember it, I don't think that I will, either, and there are some moments of his that haven't quite made it to the forefront of my thoughts just yet. It's not just all there at once. It's… I honest-to-God don't really know how to explain it."
"Well, what's his name, Xan? I could do the research thing and see if that might help paint a picture of his life for the rest of us."
"I can't tell you that, Wills. You see, if he was still alive, he would still be on active duty – presuming he hadn't been injured too badly to work. I trust you, but his secrets aren't mine to tell. I know… I know that his name probably doesn't seem like a secret, but it would lead to a lot of information that is. Am I making any sense here… or just sounding really paranoid?"
The conversation was interrupted by a frantic knocking at the door and shocked looks shared between all members of the group. All of the expected guests were there… and none of them had invited anyone else. Xander automatically assumed an alert posture, noticing Buffy's reaction out of the corner of his eye. <I don't think she was expecting that.>
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, though Rupert seemed less than fond of the chipped vampire's vocabulary.
"I have been trying to bloody well find the bunch of you for the last hour, and the shop's not been any help, seeing as it's closed. Can't you people stay somewhere that I know a little better than this?" 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. But damn, I wanted this conversation over with.>
"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 for the Watcher's calm demeanor.
"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."
"I've just **heard** things, not **seen** anything."
Willow, having known Xander for most of her life, noticed something that the others in the room didn't seem to see.
<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?" Buffy seemed a little uneasy at this. <Might be because we haven't had a chance to finish our conversation, and here Xander is going to go all demonstration-like. Hmm…>
"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 strained – 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 to storage 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 my hunch says they are… Hell, nothing's ever simple in this damn town. I bet the higher powers are just throwing us this mess for pure shits and giggles.>
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 Xander's apartment. 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 his reaction to them wasn't normal. Hmm… I think she might find him entertaining.>
Slipping quietly through the door to his apartment, 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. "I'll answer the questions when I'm done."
Xander saw the look Giles tossed toward the two scouts and realized that the Watcher was silently asking after Buffy. "Wait a second," Xander whispered as he dialed the number burned into his memory.
"I need to speak to O'Neill… That would be the **Colonel,** airman. Get him and get me a secure line, **now.**" Xander was certain that his face wore a small smirk as he heard the airman fumble for words on the other end of the line. It wasn't too hard to guess what might be going through the other man's mind… something along the lines of <command voice, knows the number, wants a secure line… but what the heck's his name?!>.
To Xander's shock, it really didn't take that long before he was switched to secure line and heard the familiar voice of the Air Force Colonel. <Familiar to **him,** Harris, not you. Remember that.>
"O'Neill." The first word in that familiar voice let Xander know that the Colonel was not in the best of moods - but there'd been a 50/50 chance of that from the start.
"My apologies for the interruption, sir. This is Harris, and we have a situation…"
O'Neill interrupted him with, "I don't know any officer named Harris."
"No, sir. You don't, and even on a secure line, there's only so much I can reveal, so I'll start with this: there are very few ways that I could have known the direct number to your portion of the facility. If I'd thought there was any chance that you would have been in your office, I could have called you there. My name is Harris, Alexander L. I live in Sunnydale, California, and on the edge of town, we have a small but fast-growing cult, headed by a gorgeous woman with glowing eyes and very little clothing. I know what she is. You know what she is. And my group doesn't have the equipment or the knowledge to handle her. We need help. It's up to you to decide whether this is truth or trap. I know it's truth… but no good officer would accept the word of an unknown. Check it out." Xander quickly gave O'Neill both his address and phone number, and hung up before the older man had a chance to voice more than two or three words. <No sense handing them everyone else on a silver platter, though I don't doubt they'll be investigated, anyway. I invited him to do as much and gave him everything short of a Social Security Number. If anything, he'll think I made it too easy.>
Hanging up the phone, Xander turned around to face the rest of the Scoobies, his gaze locking with Buffy's as she entered the apartment. 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."
Jack slowly placed the phone back in the cradle. <What the hell was that?> Turning on his heel, he made his way to the General's office and knocked, entering when acknowledged.
"We may have a problem, General."
The older, bald officer looked up from his desk at those words. "What kind of problem, Jack?"
"Just three minutes ago, I got a phone call from a man in Southern California - Alexander Harris."
"I'm not familiar with that name."
"Neither am I, sir, but the call came directly to the main switchboard, by way of the **unlisted** number. Whoever he is, he didn't just look up the contact information for Deep Space Radar Telemetry. He knew who he was calling, and from everything he said, it looks like we might have a situation just outside of some small town called..." - he paused for a second, looking at the small piece of paper where he'd been scribbling notes throughout the phone call - "Sunnydale. The guy pretty much told me to run all the checks I wanted to assure myself that it wasn't a trap, but that he and his team needed help. He said his team didn't have the knowledge or the equipment to deal with our little snaky friends…"
"Which begs the question of how he knows of them in the first place."
"Exactly."
"Run the checks, Jack. Let me know if anything comes up that - for some unknown reason - is beyond your clearance. If nothing else, we need to know why - and how - he knows about us."
<I should be angry,> Buffy thought, dropping the padlock on to the kitchen 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 **had** 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 going in with just one "experienced" team member borders on the idiotic - and suicidal. 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 space under my bottom desk drawer. If I have not returned by morning, you need to remove the drawer and get the box. It has a few things you're going to need. Make the call only AFTER that box is in your hands. 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 Xander's living room couch. Her mind whirled and her gaze wandered between the letter and the box - Xander had retrieved it himself once he'd told Spike to leave. Buffy had a suspicion that they would need whatever was in it soon, anyway. Xander had given Giles his bedroom for the night and Willow and Tara were ensconced in his spare room. Dawn had started out resting in the comfortable chair, feet up on the ottoman.
Xander had chosen a simple space on the floor, making a bed out of an exercise mat and a few blankets. Buffy couldn't help but notice that his space had a clear view of the door… and that Dawn - at some point during the night - 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.
SG-1 should have been sleeping. Instead, the four-member team sat in business-class seats on a nearly empty red-eye flight to Los Angeles, where they would pick up a rental for the drive to Sunnydale. The strange situation was marked by the team's uncharacteristic silence. O'Neill was studying a file instead of cracking jokes. Carter was doing… something O'Neill couldn't see… with a laptop. Daniel Jackson was apparently looking over some foreign language that needed translating, and Teal'c… well, actually, the silence wasn't unusual for Teal'c.
<This… this is not what I was expecting. This guy is nowhere near old enough to have the kind of voice I heard during that call. Everything about him is too young, too inexperienced… except for the eyes. Shit.> O'Neill unconsciously straightened as he focused on the younger man's picture, acknowledging the shadows he saw there. <Alexander Harris, who the hell are you?> Running a hand through greying hair, he turned his focus to the reports on something called "The Initiative."
In Xander's apartment, very early the next morning, Giles was sitting at the dining room table. He'd headed to the shop at sunrise to place a "Closed for Renovation" sign in the window. No one was getting any work done today. <Or, more likely, for the next *few* days… or weeks. If the military gentlemen take great exception to our collective level of knowledge, our interaction with them – voluntary or otherwise – might indeed be for a significantly longer period of time.> In between bouts of worrying, Giles had 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 the room 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 thinks your average Californian might just be awake 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 he moved toward the door, casting a quick glance at the newly-awakened Buffy. Dawn had been moved to Xander's room when Giles came out to the kitchen.
"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 Buffy, Xander unlocked the door, knowing that he would see familiar faces on the other side. <Familiar to *him,* remember. These are not your friends… not yet and maybe never.> He opened the door to the sight he had expected… SG-1.
<God, is this ever going to mess with my internal 'friend or foe' detector. M.G. would have trusted this team with his life – and did, several times. Can I trust them with the truth about my friends, or will that get us all "permanent resident" status at the SGC or Area 51? I don't even want to think about what the NID would do with a Slayer. The Initiative was bad enough, and it was just the NID's bastard child.>
"O'Neill, Jackson, Carter…" he cast a quizzical look toward Teal'c, not entirely certain what name he'd use in public.
"Murray." Xander did his best to conceal the signs that the voices were familiar to him, but wasn't sure that he succeeded. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Buffy gliding forward, a look on her face that promised trouble. Opening the door, he quickly gestured to SG-1 to enter, and then turned his back on them to reach for Buffy's wrist.
Leaning in close, he whispered to her. "Buffy, don't. I know your spidey-sense is tingling, but he's an ally. He won't hurt us unless he thinks we're trying to hurt his team. No stakes, no crossbows, no nothing, ok? He's not a demon."
"But he's not human." Buffy's voice was soft, but Xander worried that it might be just loud enough for Teal'c to hear.
"No… but he's an ally. I'd really like to keep it that way." Buffy's eyes were full of questions, and Xander's whispers asked her for just a little more time, a little more patience. It was going to be hard enough convincing the team that they were friendly, and it wouldn't help his case if his own friends were hostile to them, even though the Scooby Gang had reason enough to be paranoid.
Sighing, Buffy nodded, looking over SG-1 with a wary gaze before heading in the direction of Xander's bathroom.
Turning back to SG-1, Xander took note of "Murray's" raised eyebrow. <I'm going to have *such* fun questions to answer later. First order of the day… coffee. I'll make a pot and set the whole thing on the table, let them see I'm not tampering with it…>
<Intriguing. The one known as Buffy Summers seems to know that I am not human, as did Alexander Harris. SGC Security may have been compromised to a greater degree than previously suspected.>
Teal'c watched Buffy Summers head down the hallway to what he could only presume to be a bedroom or a bathroom, and then turned his attention back to Alexander Harris, who invited them all to sit at a large table while he prepared a variety of beverages, including coffee and tea. He recognized the older man at the table as Rupert Giles, remembering that he was the High School librarian… prior to the suspicious destruction of said school.
Watching the young man, Teal'c realized that he moved as a warrior, even in the simple act of preparing refreshment for guests. There was no wasted movement, and Teal'c wondered if this was the young man's natural state, or if he moved so because he felt himself surrounded by individuals who did not have his trust.
<No one in this place is at ease with the situation.> Teal'c looked to his teammates, made even more uneasy by O'Neill's uncharacteristic silence.
SG-1 should have been sleeping. Instead, the four-member team sat in business-class seats on a nearly empty red-eye flight to Los Angeles, where they would pick up a rental for the drive to Sunnydale. The strange situation was marked by the team's uncharacteristic silence. O'Neill was studying a file instead of cracking jokes. Carter was doing… something O'Neill couldn't see… with a laptop. Daniel Jackson was apparently looking over some foreign language that needed translating, and Teal'c… well, actually, the silence wasn't unusual for Teal'c.
<This… this is not what I was expecting. This guy is nowhere near old enough to have the kind of voice I heard during that call. Everything about him is too young, too inexperienced… except for the eyes. Shit.> O'Neill unconsciously straightened as he focused on the younger man's picture, acknowledging the shadows he saw there. <Alexander Harris, who the hell are you?> Running a hand through greying hair, he turned his focus to the reports on something called "The Initiative."
In Xander's apartment, very early the next morning, Giles was sitting at the dining room table. He'd headed to the shop at sunrise to place a "Closed for Renovation" sign in the window. No one was getting any work done today. <Or, more likely, for the next few days… or weeks. If the military gentlemen take great exception to our collective level of knowledge, our interaction with them - voluntary or otherwise - might indeed be for a significantly longer period of time.> In between bouts of worrying, Giles had 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 the room 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 thinks your average Californian might just be awake 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 he moved toward the door, casting a quick glance at the newly-awakened Buffy. Dawn had been moved to Xander's room when Giles came out to the dining room.
"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 Buffy, Xander unlocked the door, knowing that he would see familiar faces on the other side. <Familiar to *him,* remember. These are not your friends… not yet and maybe never.> He opened the door to the sight he had expected… SG-1.
<God, is this ever going to mess with my internal 'friend or foe' detector. M.G. would have trusted this team with his life - and did, several times. Can I trust them with the truth about my friends, or will that get us all "permanent resident" status at the SGC or Area 51? I don't even want to think about what the NID would do with a Slayer. The Initiative was bad enough, and it was just the NID's bastard child.>
"O'Neill, Jackson, Carter…" he cast a quizzical look toward Teal'c, not entirely certain what name he'd use in public.
"Murray." Xander did his best to conceal the signs that the voices were familiar to him, but wasn't sure that he succeeded. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Buffy gliding forward, a look on her face that promised trouble. Opening the door, he quickly gestured to SG-1 to enter, and then turned his back on them to reach for Buffy's wrist.
Leaning in close, he whispered to her. "Buffy, don't. I know your spidey-sense is tingling, but he's an ally. He won't hurt us unless he thinks we're trying to hurt his team. No stakes, no crossbows, no nothing, ok? He's not a demon."
"But he's not human." Buffy's voice was soft, but Xander worried that it might be just loud enough for Teal'c to hear.
"No… but he's an ally. I'd really like to keep it that way." Buffy's eyes were full of questions, and Xander's whispers asked her for just a little more time, a little more patience. It was going to be hard enough convincing the team that they were friendly, and it wouldn't help his case if his own friends were hostile to them, even though the Scooby Gang had reason enough to be paranoid.
Sighing, Buffy nodded, looking over SG-1 with a wary gaze before heading in the direction of Xander's bathroom.
Turning back to SG-1, Xander took note of "Murray's" raised eyebrow. <I'm going to have *such* fun questions to answer later. First order of the day… coffee. I'll make a pot and set the whole thing on the table, let them see I'm not tampering with it…>
<Intriguing. The one known as Buffy Summers seems to know that I am not human, as did Alexander Harris. SGC Security may have been compromised to a greater degree than previously suspected.>
Teal'c watched Buffy Summers head down the hallway to what he could only presume to be a bedroom or a bathroom, and then turned his attention back to Alexander Harris, who invited them all to sit at a large table while he prepared a variety of beverages, including coffee and tea. He recognized the older man at the table as Rupert Giles, remembering that he was the High School librarian… prior to the suspicious destruction of said school.
Watching the young man, Teal'c realized that he moved as a warrior, even in the simple act of preparing refreshment for guests. There was no wasted movement, and Teal'c wondered if this was the young man's natural state, or if he moved so because he felt himself surrounded by individuals who did not have his trust.
<No one in this place is at ease with the situation.> Teal'c looked to his teammates, made even more uneasy by O'Neill's uncharacteristic silence.
<I swear to God, O'Neill's eyes are drilling holes in the back of my head… not without cause, but still… Come on, Harris, concentrate on the coffee. And see if Daniel would like some tea or something.>
"Coffee okay with everyone? I've got tea, too. Hot chocolate, milk, soda… beer. Take your pick. Plenty of food in the place. The rest of the gang will probably be up as soon as they smell the food, anyway."
"The gang? How many people are sleeping here?" Surprisingly, the question came from Carter rather than O'Neill, and Xander couldn't decide whether or not that should worry him.
"However many decided they didn't want me to discuss the current situation with the military without having some form of backup present." <Naturally, this would be one time when I couldn't convince them that I would be better handling this on my own. Wouldn't be the *first* time, of course. Them being here reassures and worries me at the same time. Backup's good, but there's a greater chance that something will go massively wrong, too. Buffy's reaction to Teal'c could have been better. Just hope that isn't an omen for the rest of the day.
And now, the question of the hour… do I explain things the easy way, the hard way, or whatever way O'Neill deems suitable? In the meantime, breakfast would be good - not that I'd count on actually eating any of it.>
"I'll take care of breakfast, Xander." <Ah, yes, Giles is just as unsure about these people as I am… of course, the fact that I haven't actually introduced them to each other might have something to do with that.>
"Thanks, Giles. I'll handle introductions in a second. Until then, everyone might as well grab a seat. It's going to be a long conversation, and I'm not exactly certain how to start it off, so I'll just work out a basic sitrep now and you can ask questions later. First, this apartment is clean. Nothing and no one is listening in that shouldn't be, despite the number of current guests. Most of those shouldn't be awake yet, in any case, and if you've done your research, you know that we can all be trusted. We've kept bigger secrets than most of you would expect. Regardless, I haven't told my friends what you do for a living, and without your permission, I won't."
He paused for a moment, keeping his gaze locked with O'Neill's, brown eyes on brown and no give in either set.
<He moves like he's military. He speaks like he's military. Why the hell doesn't his file mention anything about it? Even if he has been fighting demons - *demons,* for Pete's sake - since he was sixteen, it's an entirely different way of thinking. What am I missing?>
Harris kept staring him straight in the eyes, and neither flinched. <On the good side, his eyes are still brown and he's not turning into a raving psychopath with delusions of godhood… and I need to stop listening to Daniel.>
"What do you know about what we do for a living, Harris?"
"The fact that I could have called the direct line to your private office should tell you how much I know, Colonel O'Neill. That I *did* call the direct line to the SGC should confirm it. I have access to certain information, though quite a bit of it is probably outdated. For example, I would wager that Carter's probably a Major by now, but I don't know for sure. I know that Murray isn't really Murray, but - as I'm sure you noticed - didn't know what name to use in public for him. My intel was current as of four years ago - give or take a few months. Regardless, there is a situation here, at this exact moment - of the barely-clothed and glowy-eyed variety. Despite everything that has happened in this town, no one here has dealt with *them.* Usually, the things we deal with would be quite happy to just kill us - sometimes in a nice, drawn-out fashion, but we would still end up dead. *Her* kind would stick us in the never-ending hell of our own minds, looking out from behind our eyes but unable to do anything other than what she and her family demand of us. Death, I can handle, but I've never been real big on the thought of having someone else in control of my body. That clear enough for you, Colonel?"
<Well, crap. He *does* know what we do for a living. So, *how* does he know, and *who* is the current threat?> Even as he was thinking about the wary young man in front of him, Jack's mind acknowledged the other activities going on around him at this early hour of the morning. He could smell the cooking food, and had to admit that breakfast would probably be a good idea. He also remembered that the Slayer was well and truly awake… and somewhere in this apartment. How many other members of the now-infamous "Scooby Gang" were in residence this morning?
Harris seemed to be listening for something - <sounds of his friends waking up?> - but kept talking.
"I heard the first rumors of the cult yesterday, from a contact. I wouldn't call him a friend, but he has his moments of usefulness. The way he described it made me… uneasy, so I went with him last night to check things out." Xander ignored the questions that had been burning in the Colonel's eyes since he stepped through the door. He needed to explain the threat first <We'll get into the magic-demon-vampire side of things later, after Willow is awake. I've no doubt they know some of it anyway. If they haven't managed to get their hands on the Initiative records, then Carter and Hammond aren't as good at their jobs as M.G. remembers. I doubt it will be pretty, no matter how much they know. I'm still a security leak.>
"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, O'Neill," Xander responded, carefully killing any temptation to use the Colonel's first name. <Damn, but having Feretti in my head is making things complicated.> "I just have a fair amount of books 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 know he does that on purpose. Easiest way to make a potential opponent underestimate you is to act like an idiot. God knows, I did it for long enough, myself.>
"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, a potential security leak is the least of your concerns, and one that you can deal with - at your leisure - when this is taken care of. What's important is that that cult leader - going by the name Ishtar - is most definitely a problem with which your team is more equipped to deal, though I wouldn't recommend just the four of you going after her in this town. 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?"
O'Neill 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 into the living room from the hallway. 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. And that confirms how much I *should* be able to tell you." 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."
"We're up, Xan-man," Buffy said from somewhere behind him. "I've cleaned up and everyone else was lured out by the smell of something resembling food. Where's Dawn?"
"In the kitchen with Giles."
Taking a closer look at the Slayer than he had the first time he saw her, Jack realized that 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 - in general - what I've read about Harris doesn't match what I'm seeing, either. 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. And who the hell would torture their kid with a name like "Buffy?">
He ran through the checklist in his head - Summers, already scrutinized… sort of.
Rupert Giles - <This guy being here just sets off every alarm I've got. 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.>
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. Brilliant enough to have gotten a job offer from Microsoft while she was still in High School, so why - of all places - did she pick UC-Sunnydale? 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? Wish that damn report hadn't been quite so outdated.>
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.
I'm thinking it's time to get to know who we're really dealing with, here.>
One by one, the members of the "Scooby Gang" found unoccupied seats at the table, Tara seeming quite at ease next to Teal'c. Willow, after a slightly more wary look at Teal'c, took a seat next to the blond Wiccan. Food was offered and eaten, SG-1 appearing to enjoy breakfast equally as much as the Scoobies… yet, the entire meal was eaten in an eerie silence, the only noise being the clink of silverware on plates and drinks being poured into glasses. No one spoke so much as a single word until the meal was finished and the dishes put in the dishwasher.
<Of course,> Xander realized, <that might have something to do with the less-than-stellar introductions at the beginning of the meal. "Jack, Sam, Daniel, Murray, these are my friends. Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Tara, Giles… this is Jack, Sam, Daniel and Murray. I'll chime in with more information once we've had something to eat. Until then, will it be that hard for everyone here to be civil?" Naturally, in the paranoia that's running rampant this morning, everyone figured that the only way to be civil was to say nothing. Joy.>
Table washed and dried, Xander turned back to his guests - both friends and hopeful allies - mentally squared his shoulders, and readied himself for the chaos that would most likely follow. "Everyone comfy here or would you prefer the living room?" It didn't take much for him to notice the almost-telepathic level of communication between the members of SG-1… but then, it could be said that he'd been there when it was first developing. He couldn't keep himself from being impressed at how the four had solidified as a team. Xander would lay odds that if one were to split them up and assign them to different commands, they could be reassigned together ten years from now and know that they would still be a team, in the deepest sense of the word. He was impressed.
Xander wagered that the team would request to stay where they were. After all, the table had a direct view of three different exits; the living room only had line-of-sight to two.
Granted, he wouldn't have won much betting against himself, but they did choose the table. <Now for the hard part.>
"Alrighty, campers" - <shit, I shouldn't have used that phrase> - "it's time for full introductions. The dangerous as hell gentleman with the salt-and-pepper hair at the end of the table is US Air Force Colonel Jonathon "Jack" O'Neill - with two 'L's. Apparently, the other one doesn't have much of a sense of humor. Next to him is his second in command, Dr. Major Samantha Carter. Willow, I have the feeling you and she could find quite a bit to talk about. She tends to add dimensions to the term "genius" and excels in accomplishing the supposedly impossible. Next to Major Carter, we have Dr. Daniel Jackson…" <Please don't let Willow recognize… damn. I can see it. She knows exactly who he is and is making connections no one wants her to make right now. Just stay quiet for a little while longer, Wills… please?>
Xander took a deep breath and continued the introductions, praying that his best friend wouldn't interrupt him. "Dr. Daniel Jackson, incomparable linguist and civilian consultant to the Air Force. In between Jackson and Tara is Murray, another civilian consultant to the Air Force, though I really couldn't tell you his specialty." <And, it's time for another deep breath.>
"Now for the hard part. Both of our groups have secrets. I know this and so does everyone else in the room. The Colonel and his team - I would suspect - already know most of ours. I know a fair amount of theirs, and I'm pretty sure that some people in this room are making a few connections of their own. Here's the question: Seeing as we've got a situation that impacts all of us, how much is going to be laid on the table in regards to background?"
<Harris doesn't waste much time getting to the point, does he? I like that. I haven't seen much of this place, but what I have seen shows a good grasp of tactics. There's always more than one way out. Smart. Wanting to make sure his people are covered in case the shit flies by making sure both groups have an equal amount of blackmail material on each other. Also smart. Good thing the CIC gave us approval for a little tell-all session… and Hammond reminded me to pack the right forms… in triplicate.>
"We don't know anywhere near what we should know about your little group, Harris. I'd like to get my hands on whoever wrote those reports and drag them in to get their eyes checked. The Initiative seemed to be selectively blind when it came to certain people in this room."
Harris stopped just short of openly rolling his eyes. "I'll take a wild guess that someone thought I ranked somewhere between 'couldn't take a wet kitten in a fight' and 'don't trust him at your back - he might shoot you?'"
"Something like that. How'd you guess?"
"Riley's boys never did seem to be able to account for my survival. Since I never showed them any sign that I actually knew what I was doing, they presumed someone else was looking out for me and I was just there to get the doughnuts. That, quite frankly, is exactly how I wanted it."
"Xander!?"
"Buffy, I'm not telling them anything yet that they wouldn't have realized from looking at the reports and using their own eyes. Besides, they have enough problems of their own to handle and would most likely prefer to leave other issues to other experts - in the case of lovely, scenic Sunnydale - that would be us. You know as well as I do that misdirection is sometimes the greatest form of defense. Riley's boys believed that no 'normal' person without military training could be a threat, and in large part held that belief to the last. They also thought technology could solve all problems. We saw where that got them."
<Yeah, so did we. Nice little video the General made us watch before we left the base, just so we'd believe what we read in the files. ADAM gives me the willies.>
"It's true, you know. The Initiative files did tell us a hell of a lot… but not enough. It's also quite clear, Harris, that you really *haven't* told your friends what you know about our work… makes me feel a little better when it comes to deciding whether or not you're a serious security risk. However, our C.O. - infinitely more intelligent than myself - had the wisdom to gain clearance for everyone in your group. We brought the forms - you sign them, and we can at least tell you the basics that everyone else on base would know."
"Why can't we know everything that your team specifically would know?"
<Interesting to see that look of pain go across Harris' face - almost looked like Hammond for a second… like he could benefit from a couple dozen Tylenol. More specifically, it looks like me trying to explain something military to Daniel… during the first year. He's much better now.>
"That's where we get into 'Chain of Command' Issues, Buff." <Please, don't let anyone lose control. M.G.'s not having a lot of fun at this little conference, I can tell you. Buffy and Jack both with 'Alpha' personalities, and Buffy trying to get all the information she can get her hands on… even when her time dating Riley should have let her know that some things stay secret regardless of all other concerns. This is going to be fun.> "The entire base cannot know everything that O'Neill's team is cleared to know, just like O'Neill's team isn't cleared to know everything that O'Neill knows, O'Neill isn't cleared to know everything his C.O. knows, and his C.O. isn't cleared to know everything the President knows. They're offering to tell us the equivalent of what they already know about us, so that we can be on equal footing and actually work together."
<Please, God, let this part be over soon. Yet, somehow, I don't think I'm that lucky.>