Fic: The Agreement (BtVS/SG-1/SGA, McKay/Anya)

Author’s Note: This series presumes that Anya left Sunnydale sometime before “Selfless,” so the present-day events in that episode and everything that followed never happened.


Anya stormed into her apartment, slamming the door behind her, and immediately shouted to the empty air: “Hallie! Halfrek, I need to speak with you, right now!”

The air shimmered for a moment, then Halfrek stood before her, arms crossed and with an equally cross look on her face. “What is it now? I have an adult child of an alcoholic on hold, so I really hope you’re not going to ask me to take a client off your hands again.”

“I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have done it the first time,” Anya grumbled, glaring at her friend. “Antarctica? I’m in the middle of the second-best sex of my life, and you send him off to Antarctica?”

“Would you rather she’d wished him into a hell dimension?” Halfrek pointed out logically. “Besides, Antarctica’s only temporary. Sometime in the next three months, he should find himself on his way to the Pegasus Galaxy.”

The other vengeance demon sputtered. “The Pegasus Galaxy?”

Hallie sighed and claimed a spot on Anya’s couch without being invited. “Really, Anyanka, you’ve got to stop falling for the men you’re supposed to be punishing. It’s doing nothing to help your reputation. A girl has to learn how to separate business and pleasure, and you seem to have forgotten how to do that while you were human.”

The other woman scowled and sat down beside her with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose you’re right–I should be glad she didn’t wish him into a hell dimension or a slow, painful death.”

“Exactly,” Halfrek agreed with a pleased smile. “And besides, as vengeance goes, this really isn’t half as bad as it looks, though I certainly didn’t tell the poor girl that. The only way I could get him transferred to another galaxy was to hook him up with an expedition to find Atlantis.”

That made Anya’s eyebrows shoot up. “Atlantis? The lost city of the Powers That Be?”

“The same,” Hallie agreed. “It’s the adventure of a lifetime, really, not much of a punishment, but–”

“It’s not his punishment that worries me,” Anya snapped, getting annoyed again. “Who am I going to go to for orgasms if I’m not speaking to Xander and Rodney’s in another galaxy?”

“Darling, it’s not as if you won’t be able to reach him there. Your teleportation privileges aren’t exactly restricted anymore. And besides, with a group that small? There’s bound to be some relationships gone sour eventually.”

Anya blinked, startled. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Halfrek gave her friend’s knee a reassuring pat. “See? That’s what comes of dating humans–sex gets involved, and thinking just goes right out the window. That’s why most of us just stick to our own kind.”

~+~+~+~

“Doctor Weir.”

The voice that interrupted his conversation with Elizabeth was so familiar to him and yet so utterly foreign to this place that McKay just about jumped out of his skin. He jerked around to face the source of the voice and found himself staring in something beyond disbelief at the petite blonde approaching them from across the large main cavern of the Ancient outpost. It was her. How the hell was that possible?

Oblivious to or at least ignoring the aghast scientist, the young woman calmly approached Dr. Weir and proceeded to hold out a handful of pages. “The translation you wanted.”

Rodney blinked repeatedly and shook himself as if the combination of the two actions would dislodge this hallucination he must be having and allow him to see who was really standing in front of him. Because in spite of the voice and the face and the painfully familiar–even under all the thinsulate–body…it couldn’t be Anya. She didn’t act like Anya. He might not have known the woman very well, but the one thing he was pretty sure he did know was that she was incapable of standing there so patiently while Elizabeth read over what she’d just been handed.

Weir smiled and offered the papers back. “Thank you, Dr…”

“Jenkins,” the young woman supplied helpfully and Rodney’s hopes sank as he remembered their first introduction: “By the way, I’m Anya. Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins.” Oh God, it was her. Either that or she had a sane twin.

“Dr. Jenkins,” Elizabeth repeated. “Good work.”

“I’m pleased to be doing my part to further human exploitation of the universe,” Anya answered cheerfully. “Particularly since it pays so much better than shopkeeping. I would have taken it up years ago if I’d known all you needed was a few simple translations.”

Dr. Weir shot Rodney a speculative look at that, with a hint of a smile. He was doing his best not to sink through the floor in mortification. “Elizabeth, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Dr. Jenkins privately for a moment?”

“Of course.” She smiled, nodding again at the blonde before disappearing in Peter Grodin’s direction. “Good to meet you, Doctor.”

As soon as her back was turned, McKay grabbed Anya roughly by the arm and pulled her into a side alcove.

“Ow!” she protested irritably, slapping at his hand with her own. “What was that for? Unless you were thinking rough sex, which I have been known to go for on occasion–”

“What was–!” Much to his own amazement, Rodney found himself almost speechless. He let go more out of surprise than any real certainty that she’d stay put. “What the hell was that? ‘I would have taken it up years ago if I’d known all you needed was a few simple translations’? A few simple translations?”

“You want me to pretend that was hard?” she shot back with a little snort. “Obviously you’ve never tried to read Middle Pylean.”

Obviously not, since he’d never even heard of the language; she was probably making it up to show off. “You’re missing the point,” Rodney snapped. “Breaking into my apartment is one thing. But this is a highly sensitive installation. You can’t just waltz in here like…like…and for that matter, how the hell did you get past security?”

Anya scowled. “If I’d known you would be this happy to see me, I would’ve stayed on the surface with those strapping young servicemen,” she grumbled, rubbing her arm as if he’d actually hurt her.

Oh, for God’s sake. “I am neither happy nor unhappy to see you; I’m a little too busy being shocked at the moment, considering you apparently broke into one of the most secure locations on the planet. And since when are you a doctor of anything?”

“I told you, I’m a vengeance demon. I can be whatever or wherever I need to be to get the job done,” she stated in that infuriating way she had of treating the utterly ludicrous like a fact of life. “Although, granted, I’m here for pleasure, not business. Even though there are a few people around having vengeful thoughts about someone named Kavanaugh. And a few that have your name on them, too, you heartbreaker.”

Damn it. He should have known better. She really believed her little delusion, so when he’d let himself get comfortable and let the truth slip, she’d believed him as well despite insisting otherwise. Which basically meant that he’d risked his job for an insane blonde trollop of a stalker and if he didn’t do something about it, he was likely to lose that job.

Anya glared at him. “Honestly, you’d think a man in your line of work would be a little more open-minded. I mean, really, is there that much difference between hostile serpentine aliens taking over your body and actual demons?”

Rodney just stared, floored. Breaking into the Antarctic outpost was nearly impossible. Doing that and managing to crack the SGC? Either she was the most brilliant hacker he’d ever met, had a hell of a lot more clearance than he’d given her credit for…or she was telling the truth. None of those options were particularly appealing.

“You know about the Goa’uld?”

“Of course. Who do you think cursed Osiris to spend his next life as a woman?”

“But you said you were a thousand years old and Osiris was imprisoned something like 10,000 years ago,” McKay pointed out.

Anya rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “And if you’d been Isis, trapped in a canopic jar for 9000 years because your husband was thinking with his host’s penis, you’d be wishing vengeance on him too. Now, are we going to have sex or aren’t we? I’d hate to think I came all this way for nothing.”

He would have retorted that he had much more important things to do at the moment, except his body was already cheerfully declaring him a liar. And his mind wasn’t helping either, the traitor; instead it was only too happy to feed him memories of what that hungry look in her eyes had foreshadowed in the past. Closing his eyes just conjured up vivid images of Anya naked, slick with sweat and riding him like something out of every wet dream he’d ever had as a teenager.

Rodney swallowed hard. Oh hell–it wasn’t like he had any reason not to take her up on her offer. There certainly wasn’t a line of women outside his door, waiting eagerly to get into his bed, and especially not here.

“Not here,” he managed to croak out. “Too public.”

Not to mention too damned cold not to make him look like a fool–at least his quarters at McMurdo had heat enough to deal with certain, er, consequences of spending one’s time in Antarctica.

The only trick was how to get there with a raging hard-on, without embarrassing himself in front of every single other person between here and McMurdo, like that cocky wiseass of a helicopter pilot that he would be only too happy to see the last of if and when they ever made it to Atlantis and away from here.

Anya smiled almost gleefully and grabbed his hand. “I know just the place.”

~+~+~+~

It was so nice to have full teleportation privileges again, although that astonished look on Rodney’s face was beginning to get annoying. If he didn’t stop being amazed that she’d told him the truth, it might just distract him from giving her orgasms and that was unacceptable.

Right now, however, it seemed more likely that he was going to hyperventilate and die, which would prevent her from having sex with him for much, much longer since the only dead people she cared to sleep with were vampires.

“What…how…where…where are we?”

“My apartment. Los Angeles,” was all the explanation she offered before pushing him up against a wall and kissing him aggressively.

Much to her aggravation, Rodney pulled away. “But…how…?”

“Weren’t you listening to me the first six times I told you?” Anya snapped impatiently. “Now please stop talking and just screw me already.” She punctuated that last with a not-so-subtle grab to the crotch.

Rodney let out a yelp somewhere in the soprano register, which really wasn’t fair since she hadn’t grabbed that hard. Fortunately, his penis was much more honest, as was usually the case with men–it leapt quite happily into her hands. “Well, that’s a relief,” she stated a bit more calmly. “I was beginning to wonder if you were gay and the first nine times were just a fluke.”

He grabbed her by the arms again, the yelp descending into a much more attractive growl. “I’ll show you flukes…”

Pulled into a crushing kiss, Anya wriggled impatiently against him, almost letting out a mew of frustration when he pulled back yet again. Fortunately, this time it was only long enough to pant out, “…and then we need to have a talk about this vengeance demon thing, because this is getting a little too weird even for me,” and then his lips and hands were on her again and Anya quite happily stopped thinking.

~+~+~+~

The first thing to cross Rodney’s mind as he crept back to awareness the next morning was that someone had finally fixed the heater in his quarters. It might be summer in Antarctica–and daylight twenty-four-seven, which was rather obnoxious–but summer at the farthest point on the globe from the sun was still too cold to be without a functioning thermostat.

He shifted in bed, then, and suddenly became aware of two things: one, that he was naked and covered only by a thin sheet, and two, that there was someone else lying beside him, also naked.

His eyes flew open, his body jerking upright into a sitting position as he stared in a mixture of wonder and dismay at the slim, blonde-haired figure beside him. “Oh God. Not a dream.”

Anya opened her eyes then and glared at him. “Are you always this tiresome?”

Rodney gaped. “Wh-what?”

She just snorted and clambered out of bed, not bothering to dress before stomping across the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door. McKay went over the morning again in his mind, trying to figure out what had put her into such a bad temper. It didn’t take long–there wasn’t much to review–but by the time she emerged from the bathroom (now dressed in a silk robe, much to his disappointment), he still hadn’t come up with an answer.

“Well?” she demanded.

“If you really find me so ‘tiresome,'” he snapped, “then maybe you should stop accosting me at odd hours and demanding that I have sex with you.”

Anya rolled her eyes as if he’d missed something incredibly obvious. “I’m not referring to your sexual prowess–that was quite satisfactory, although you could use a little more practice. I simply resent being relegated to a figment of your imagination every time your teeny brain doesn’t like what I’m telling you.”

“‘Teeny’ brain? Did you just accuse me of having a ‘teeny’ brain?” Rodney sputtered. “I’ll have you know that I have one of the biggest brains on the planet! Earth would be toast–probably several times over–if it wasn’t for me!”

“Well, it’s certainly bigger than Xander’s,” she conceded grumpily. “Why is it you men are always so concerned with the size of your brains? It’s how you handle it that matters.”

“And what’s wrong with the way I’m handling mine?”

Anya just sighed, then her face shifted. Instead of the beautiful young woman he’d bedded the night before, Rodney suddenly found himself staring a creature of some sort–a face that looked like it had been stripped of skin to reveal the striated muscle underneath, framing eyes that gleamed with an unfamiliar and terrifying malice.

“Oh my God!” He scrambled backwards, almost falling out of the bed in his hurry to get away. “How did you…what did you…what are you?”

“I already told you. I’m a vengeance demon. Why is that so hard to believe for a man who works with aliens?”

She took a step closer, and he recoiled. Normally, arguing like this with her would be turning him on, but that face…well, it was better than a cold shower.

“I’m a scientist, damn it!” he almost shrieked. “The Goa’uld, the Asgard…as much as their technology may look like magic, it still obeys the laws of physics. This is…” He forced himself to open his eyes and peek back over his shoulder. Oh, God, she was still…with the face, and the eyes. “I’m sorry, but this is unacceptable!”

“Well, this is who I am. And I’m frankly sick of it not being ‘acceptable.'” Those newly-frightening eyes burned as she began to pace the room, gesticulating wildly with both hands. “Everybody always telling me to act ‘more human’: ‘don’t do this, Anya,’ ‘don’t do that,’ ‘don’t turn that lying, cheating bastard into a steaming pile of entrails even though he deserves it.’ Maybe I don’t want to be human–I’d rather be honest. And if that’s ‘unacceptable’–”

She stopped, pivoted to face him with a look of cold fury…and vanished.

Rodney let out a yelp. “Anya! Anya, come back here right now! That isn’t funny!”

There was no answer, and a look of dismay slowly drained the anger from his face as he brought up both hands to cover it. “Oh God…”

Now how was he supposed to get back to Antarctica?

~+~+~+~

“Sergeant Harriman.”

Rodney’s posture suddenly straightened. “Sergeant! Oh, thank God. Look, I need to speak to General O’Neill right away.”

“Doctor McKay?” the little Radar O’Reilly wannabe exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing calling from an unsecured line in the 310 area code?”

“Because that’s where I am,” he snapped. “Look, I need someone to send a plane out to Edwards to pick me up and take me back to McMurdo.”

Harriman laughed. “That’s a good one, Doctor McKay. And Colonel Carter said you don’t have a sense of humor!”

McKay stared at the phone in disbelief. “You think this is some sort of joke?”

“Sir, I have all the transport logs from McMurdo–there’s been no arrivals or departures to or from the outpost in the last twenty four hours, by ground or air transportation.”

“I didn’t take ground or air transportation, you imbecile. I was teleported here!”

“There’s been no record of any Asgard activity in this sector, the Prometheus’ transporter is being upgraded, and the Daedalus isn’t finished yet.”

“Look. I’m in Los Angeles,” McKay snapped. “Don’t waste my time telling me how I could or couldn’t have gotten here, just send someone to come get me and take me back!”

“Sorry, Doctor. It’s a good joke, and I’d love to help out, but then I might get roped into some sort of wacky revenge scheme by General O’Neill, and you know how it is–it’s a never ending cycle. Let me know how it goes, though!”

The line went dead, and he stared at it for a minute in disbelief before hanging up. They thought he was joking? Yeah, well, they might have second thoughts when Elizabeth called and reported him missing. He just had to decide if he wanted to wait that long, considering on he was scheduled to be sleeping for the next five hours.

Looking around the abandoned apartment, Rodney felt an odd sinking in his stomach. Probably because of that five-hour window looming ahead of him…but it didn’t feel like it. It felt almost like regret.

He shook his head, chasing the thought away. What did he have to feel regretful about, except maybe not waiting to tell her she was crazy until after she took him back?

Maybe the fact that you know what it feels like not to be accepted for who you are?

Ridiculous. Utter nonsense. What did he care if he was ‘accepted’? He was brilliant, and he was usually right. Why should he pretend to be ignorant of that just to ingratiate himself with his colleagues? If they didn’t like it, they could just…

Leave?

Rodney gave his conscience a vicious mental kick.

~+~+~+~

“You’re still here?”

Rodney just about jumped out of his seat, but quickly covered his surprise with a sharp, “Considering that you stranded me here without transportation, where did you expect me to go?”

Anya shrugged, keeping a rather bored expression on her face with no little effort. “Well, it would be nice if you had gone begging door to do for a place to sleep rather than continue to presume on my generosity when I’m not speaking to you, but it’s just as well. I have to send you back anyway–I’ll be in big trouble if I interfere with you going to Atlantis, and I’m on thin enough ice as it is.”

McKay frowned, looking up at her. “What? What difference does it make to you whether or not we find Atlantis?”

“None, I guess–if you’re not going to be giving me orgasms anymore.” She sighed dramatically then crossed to his side and peered over his shoulder, changing the subject before he could demand further explanation. “What’s that you’re scribbling?”

The scientist blushed furiously, ducking his head. “Nothing. It’s…nothing important.”

“Then you’ve wasted an awful lot of my paper on nothing. I expect to be reimbursed.”

McKay lifted his chin. “Fine. If you must know, it’s a theoretical proof. Designed to…” He paused, then muttered the rest of his words in a rush under his breath.

Anya shot him a look. “I’ll have you know that talking that fast is illegal in several hell dimensions. And if it’s illegal in hell, it certainly should be here.”

Rodney scowled in return. “It’s designed to account for the existence of metaphysical properties in a physical universe. Satisfied?”

By the time she finished giving him her answer, McKay was out of breath, not to mention rock hard. “I thought you didn’t want me giving you any more orgasms,” he panted. “What was that for?”

Anya kissed him again, then grabbed him by the collar and started to tug him towards the bedroom. “No one’s ever written a proof for me before.”

“Oh, well, in that case…who am I to argue with the power of numbers?”

~+~+~+~

“I could get used to this,” Rodney mumbled drowsily into Anya’s hair. She was lying stretched out on top of him–not, she’d been careful to point out, because he was the man but because he was a lot more comfortable to lie on than she would be–blonde strands tickling his nose. He wondered if she’d take it personally if he sneezed, then wondered why he cared.

“I fail to see how this is a problem,” she retorted with a lazy yawn.

“Oh, I don’t know, how about the fact that I may be leaving for another planet sometime in the near future?”

Anya sighed again, but with far less genuine exasperation this time. “Honestly. If I can teleport from Antarctica to Los Angeles and between dimensions, do you think another planet or even another galaxy is going to be a problem? Magic isn’t like your technology, alien or otherwise–it doesn’t have a range.”

That got his attention. “Really? So you could find me anywhere in the universe?”

“If I wanted to,” she smirked, running one finger down the line of hair on his chest. “Of course, you’d have to make it worth my while…”

“Oh, I think I can manage that,” he retorted with a pleased shudder. “But unless you’re really planning to come with us, you’ll have to be discreet–I don’t want to have to explain to Elizabeth why the linguist that we left behind on Earth is coming out of my bedroom all the time without having come through the Stargate first.”

“We could just not come out.”

Rodney groaned happily. “We could…but that might be even more difficult to explain. Of course, this all depends on us finding Atlantis, and it being viable. If not, we could just…ah, stay here.”

Anya frowned and rolled away, leading him to make a small noise of protest. “Damn, I knew I forgot something. I have to take you back to Antarctica.”

“Wh-what?”

“Yes, you will find Atlantis, and yes it will be viable. And if I stop you from going–”

“–you’ll be in enormous trouble, yes, I got that. What I still don’t understand is why?”

She rolled out of bed and began to dress. McKay resisted the sharp impulse to whimper as that beautiful ass was covered up with a pair of lace panties. “Because,” Anya explained with a sigh. “It’s considered very rude to interfere with the granting of another vengeance demon’s wish. And while I may not have the best grasp of human niceties, I’ve been a demon for a lot longer.”

He let out a squawk. “Someone made a wish involving me? What–oh my God, I’m going to die horribly as soon as we get there, aren’t I?”

She cocked her head and turned to frown at him, hands planted on her hips. “How should I know? Do I look like a Seer?”

“But you just said–!”

“I know what the wish entails,” she explained calmly, fastening her bra before sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “Vengeance demons don’t have any power over the future beyond that. Magic may not have a physical range, but it still has limits.”

A sour expression crossed Rodney’s face. “Wonderful.”

“If it helps any, I don’t want you to die horribly,” she informed him with a bright smile. “Not when I’m just getting you broken in.”

“Unless you can keep me alive, I’m not sure what good that does me,” he muttered. “Still…I suppose the fact that I’m not already horribly dead means something.”

“As vengeance wishes go, it was more creative than vindictive,” she agreed.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Rodney offered. “You do what you can to keep me alive whenever you’re around, and I let you break me in as thoroughly as you want.”

“So I do all the work and you reap all the benefit?” she asked with a small snort.

“Mutual benefit,” he argued.

“True,” she nodded. “It’s a satisfactory arrangement. And I haven’t been to the Pegasus Galaxy in a while–it might be fun to see how it’s changed in the last nine hundred years.”

McKay’s pleased smile faded into a look of absolute horror. “Wait a second–who said anything about the Pegasus Galaxy?”

Posted in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis, Crossovers, Het, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: The Argument (BtVS/SG-1/SGA, McKay/Anya)

Author’s Note: As of this installment, the Just Desserts series presumes that Anya left Sunnydale sometime before “Selfless,” so the present-day events in that episode and everything that followed never happened.


“Men,” the blonde at the bar muttered distastefully, tossing back her drink with a sour look.

“Tell me about it,” the woman sitting next to her sympathized with a sidelong glance and a glass raised in solidarity. “What’d yours do?”

The other woman took a deep breath. “Well, there was the troll who cheated on me with a buxom barmaid, then there was the fiance who left me at the altar and then went running to tattle to his precious Buffy when I went back to work, then there was the boss who lied to me when he said I could quit if I didn’t like the work anymore–”

“Wow,” the brunette laughed uneasily. “I probably would’ve given up on them altogether after just the first one.”

“I did briefly consider becoming a lesbian,” the blonde stated as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “But the only living gay woman I knew was my ex-fiance’s best friend, which didn’t exactly help matters.” She set her glass back down on the bar with a sigh and turned to face her comiserator. “But we’re not here to talk about me. What’s your story?”

The brunette sighed. “The usual. I’ve got this neighbor…real pig, loves to brag about his ‘top secret’ job and his supposedly incomparable intellect, but he’s got the sweetest cat…I don’t know how the poor thing puts up with him.”

“Well, at least it’s a cat and not bunnies,” the blonde answered cryptically. “So what happened?”

“Damned if I know,” the other woman grimaced. “He just…showed up at my apartment the other night with this devastated look on his face. Mumbled something about his sister and the next thing I know, I’m letting him in and offering him a drink. One drink led to another, and…” She made a gesture designed to imply what happened next.

Her companion nodded wisely. “I’m intimately familiar with drunken sex. Yet clearly you’re not here to try to think of a way to break it to him gently that you still think he’s a worthless piece of scum with good taste in cats, so…”

“Oh, he sucked me in,” the brunette admitted angrily. “Told me a bunch of crap about there being no one in his life who cared about him and he only acted like an ass to hide how much it hurt…and then when he came, he called me ‘Sam.'”

“He’s gay,” the blonde guessed. “Figures. I’ve often thought Xander slipped once or twice and almost called me Andrew, but since my name’s Anya–”

“No, Sam’s a woman,” the other woman corrected, her tone seething with bitterness. “Major Samantha Carter, an Air Force officer. After it was…over, I demanded to know who she was. And he proceeded to tell me–that she was the most brilliant, most beautiful, most everything, most goddamned perfect woman he’d ever met in his life. He damn well rhapsodized about her, and then had the audacity to be surprised that I threw him out!”

Anya leaned in eagerly, almost as if she’d been waiting for this part. “And don’t you just wish it would come back on him a hundredfold? That he’d, I don’t know, be eviscerated slowly by thousands of shrimp or something?”

The other woman shook her head. “No, but I’ll tell you what I do wish. I wish that Dr. Rodney McKay–”

Anya threw up a hand to stop her mid-wish. “Wait, did you say Rodney McKay?”

“Yes. Oh, God, don’t tell me he screwed you over too?”

The blonde’s eyes narrowed. “I certainly intend to find out. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you with this one after all.” Okay, so that wasn’t exactly true—other people could wish vengeance on someone she’d slept with, she just couldn’t—but she didn’t want Rodney McKay to die horribly before she could get the answer to her question. Ghosts were so much more difficult to track down and threaten. “But I’ll send someone–”

The brunette stared. “What are you talking about? Help me with what?”

“Why, vengeance of course,” Anya replied blithely. “Just stay put, I’ll go find Hallie and send her your way as soon as I clear a few things up.”

With that, she hopped off the bar stool and disappeared into the crowd, leaving a very bewildered almost-client behind her.

~+~+~+~

Someone was pounding on his door at half past one in the morning. McKay groaned, rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head, trying to shut out the noise. If he ignored it long enough, maybe whoever it was would go away.

After a few agonizing minutes, the pounding stopped and he let out a long sigh of relief.

“Hey, you. Butthole.”

Rodney yelped and sprang up in bed, almost smacking noses with the woman who was looming over him. He couldn’t see well enough to make out who it was, but having fantasies about strange women appearing in his bedroom were one thing, having it actually happen was on the verge of giving him a heart attack.

“Were you thinking about Major Samantha Carter while you were having sex with me?” she demanded in a voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

“What???” McKay reached for the light, blinking in shock when the features hanging over him resolved themselves into the face of a woman he’d had a one-night stand with something like three years ago in Siberia. “What the hell are you doing here? And how the hell did you get in here?” he demanded. “For that matter, how the hell did you even know where to find me?”

She ignored his questions and repeated her own in a tone of condescending false patience. “Were you thinking about Major Samantha Carter while you were having sex with me? I’d advise you to answer–there’s a woman at a bar a few blocks from here wishing vengeance on you, and I’m told I can be very creative when I want to.”

Rodney sputtered. “So you broke into my apartment in the middle of the night just to ask me that?”

“Just answer the question,” Anya demanded crossly.

“No.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t think I should have to answer that,” he sniped at her, his own temper rising. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only thing that was rising–when he was being honest with himself, half of the attraction with Major Carter was the way she fought with him. Apparently it was just how he was wired because the angrier Anya got, the more vivid his memories of their night together were becoming as a result. And it had been a memorable night. “Especially considering you admitted up front when you propositioned me that you were planning to pretend I was your ex-fiance.”

Anya shook her head impatiently. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He sputtered again. “What does–well, everything! You’re allowed to use me for a comfort screw, but I can’t do the same?”

“Yes, exactly,” she stated in an exasperated voice, as if this was something he should have known all along.

Well, at least she was honest.

“I believe that’s what’s called a double standard,” he shot back.

“Well, it was all your fault to begin with,” she retorted, her voice still unreasonably cross with him as she folded her arms over her chest and glared. “If you hadn’t been looking at me like something you wanted to eat, I would never have gotten so horny in the first place and would’ve been content to just drown my sorrows. But let me guess–that was about this Major Carter too.”

“So what if it was?” He was getting really angry now, not to mention really turned on. He fumbled with the blankets, shoving as much fabric into his lap as he could manage to hide the evidence of his arousal. “And you’re crazy if you think my finding you attractive forced you to have sex with me! I wasn’t the one propositioning a perfect stranger in a bar in the middle of Siberia.”

“Because I’m sick of it, that’s ‘so what,'” she retorted, invading his personal space to poke him repeatedly in the chest. “Xander really wanted Buffy or Willow, or maybe that little pissant Andrew for all I know, Spike wanted Buffy too, Olaf wanted Ronweig–”

It was too much for his tortured libido. Rodney grabbed her by the back of the neck and cut her off mid-rant by pulling her into a fierce, aggressive kiss. Anya responded immediately and without question, pushing him back on the bed and crawling eagerly on top of him. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten turned on by their fight.

Flipping them both over, Rodney went to work on her collarbone while Anya wriggled impatiently beneath him, her fingers finding the waistband of his boxers.

“What do you want now?” he growled against her skin.

She let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a purr. “You. And hurry, dammit.”

~+~+~+~

The next time Rodney looked at the clock, it was after four. Anya was lying tangled in the sheets beside him, a sheepish look on her face that he already knew was uncharacteristic. Her clothes and his sleeping attire lay scattered about the room as if they’d been blown there by a whirlwind.

Which, come to think of it, was a pretty accurate description for what had just transpired.

Concluding that they were both sated, at least for the moment, Anya propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him, the expression on her face morphing into a bright smile. “You didn’t say her name.”

His brain still a little fried from the past few hours’ exertions, McKay just stared at her. “What?”

“Samantha Carter,” she explained with that same infuriating false patience. “You didn’t call her name when I gave you those orgasms.”

It took a minute to register, but when it did he nodded slowly, still trying to catch his breath. “You didn’t call me Xander either.”

“You’re actually much better at this than Xander was,” she admitted. “More experience, I guess.” Not as good at it as Spike, but she didn’t add that. Despite what Xander and his friends had thought about her, she did occasionally know when it was best to leave something unsaid. “It makes me wonder why I ever settled for that boy when I could have had a man.” She sighed melodramatically.

“Well thank you…I think.”

Anya studied him frankly, the only way she knew how. “So what’s this top secret job that I’m told you always talk about?”

“If I told you that, it wouldn’t be top secret anymore, would it?” he pointed out logically.

She dismissed that notion with a wave. “Oh please. People spill their deep dark secrets all the time. For instance, what would you say if I told you I was a thousand-year-old vengeance demon, the patron of scorned women?”

“I’d say you were crazy, but clearly able to function somewhat normally in society so that’s none of my business.” And, he added silently to himself, it would certainly explain the expression ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’

“Exactly,” she responded, seeming pleased. “So you could tell me everything and I probably wouldn’t believe you either.”

There was an absurd logic in that statement, something else he was coming to recognize as typical of her. “So if I told you I was one of the world’s leading experts on wormhole physics and involved in a top secret project doing reconnaissance and exploration of other planets all the while seeking technologies to aid in the defense of Earth from a hostile alien species–?”

“I’d attribute it to your fragile male ego and smile and nod,” she agreed cheerfully.

Liar. It hung between them, but he didn’t care. Whatever else she may or may not be, Anya was apparently one of the only women he’d ever met who seemed to speak his language. It was just a pity they hadn’t figured that out three years ago.

~+~+~+~

“…but what I really wish is that this precious top secret job of his would send him to…I don’t know, Antarctica. Or better yet, another galaxy.” She took another swallow of her drink and glanced over at the sympathetic woman sitting beside her. “Just far, far away from me and from Samantha Carter.”

Halfrek beamed. “Done.”

The other woman blinked at her. “What?”

“Done. He should be receiving the call any minute now,” the vengeance demon repeated cheerfully.

“Wait a second–” Rodney McKay’s neighbor held up a hand. “You’re telling me you somehow managed to get him transferred to Antarctica?”

Halfrek nodded. “With a subsequent transfer to another galaxy, if all goes well. Oh, and as a bonus, you can expect him to ask you to take the cat. I thought you might like that touch.”

The human woman blinked, twice, not quite sure whether to believe her ears or dismiss the other woman as insane. But it sounded good, so… “Well…wow. Thanks.”

Posted in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis, Crossovers, Het, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1 | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: The Arrangement (BtVS/SG-1, McKay/Anya)

Author’s Note: Inspired by Medie’s EVIL Random Pairing Generator O’Doom. (Which means, M, that this is All Your Fault!) I had to play fast and loose with the timelines of both shows to make this work, but I think I succeeded. *g*


Okay, so she was blonde. That still was no good reason for him to be sitting here staring at her instead of drowning his sorrows in good Vodka–which was, by the way, the only good thing about being exiled to Prolsk or Volsk or whatever the hell this place was supposed to be called. It wasn’t as if she reminded him of Major Carter, and besides, Major Carter was the one who’d gotten him dumped here so he wasn’t exactly feeling kindly towards her right now. He was, however, feeling even less kindly towards himself because damned if he wasn’t still attracted to her.

If she was stupid enough not to recognize a prize like him when she saw one, then the least he should do would be to stick his nose in the air and be completely over her by the time she finally came to her senses and came crawling back. Telling himself that was one thing, however; putting it into practice seemed to be something else entirely.

Oh who was he kidding? Women as gorgeous as her didn’t go for guys like him, which was why he’d adopted the “you’re not worthy” attitude in the first place.

Hence the drowning his sorrows bit. And the staring at the blonde two stools down as if he actually had a chance. And the fact that he’d just admitted that to himself was one of the few *bad* things about good Vodka. “In vino veritas” but “in vodka veritas unpleasantas” or whatever.

“I wish you’d stop staring at me like that,” the woman addressed him crossly in perfect American English, her voice knifing through his sulk. “It makes me want sex when I’m trying to wallow in misery about being left at the altar, and I think that’s very inconsiderate of you.”

Dr. Rodney McKay almost choked on his vodka. “Excuse me, did you just say you want to have sex with me??”

“No,” she replied impatiently. “I said you looking at me like that makes me want to have sex. I want to have sex with Xander, but Xander left me at the altar.”

Rodney winced at the blunt reply, then scowled. So much for that idea.

“Although…” The blonde cocked her head to one side and squinted at him. “You do bear an extremely slight resemblance to Xander, mostly around the midsection. It’s possible that if I get drunk enough, I might be able to pretend that you’re him.”

“Oh, gee, thanks,” McKay shot back. “It’s so nice to know you consider me a step above a sex toy.”

“My sex toys are all back in Sunnydale,” she sighed regretfully, staring at the glass in her hands. “And since at the moment I’m only allowed to teleport for busines…somehow I don’t think D’Hoffryn would consider that business, even if it is very, very important.” This with another little pout.

This was not helping his mood nor his temper any. Nor was the fact that the little lady was apparently insane–teleporting without a ring transporter or help from the Asgard? And “only for business”? Yeah, right.

“You do realize this is not exactly the best way to convince me to agree to this little plan of yours?” Okay, now that must be the vodka talking–did he just turn down a gorgeous younger woman who’d expressed an interest in sleeping with him…and on principle? “Wait a second, what am I saying? I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but Russian women who have probably never even heard of shaving their legs… I wouldn’t turn down an offer like that if you told me you thought my toothbrush was sexier than I am.”

Besides, it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t be pretending it was someone else too.

As if remembering manners he’d begun to wonder if anyone had ever taught her in the first place, the blonde stuck out a hand. “By the way, I’m Anya. Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins.”

McKay accepted the hand, swallowing hard. “Rodney McKay.”

Anya smiled brightly. “So, it’s settled then. You’ll buy me several more drinks since I left most of my money safely back in Sunnydale, and then we’ll move on to drunken sex.”

Rodney stared at her for a moment before turning back to the bar and downing the rest of his vodka in one gulp, then ordering another round for both of them.

He had a feeling he was going to need it.

Posted in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis, Crossovers, Het, Stargate SG-1 | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: For Your Consideration (BtVS, Giles/Anya)

Author’s Note: Written for the drabble and ficlet challenge meme was going around LiveJournal a couple years ago–set in an alternate version of late Buffy S7.


“Giles, would you like an orgasm?”

It was a good thing that Giles had just swallowed his sip of tea, because otherwise he probably would have spat it out all over the counter. “What??”

Anya set down her own mug of tea and looked at him frankly. “I’m scared. I want to have sex again before the world ends, but I’m bored with Xander. Besides, I think Willow must have granted his wish to make him gay because lately he seems to enjoy that little pissant Andrew’s company more than mine.” The last was said with surprisingly less bitterness than he would have expected.

The Watcher sputtered, frantically trying to stitch back up his shredded dignity. “I hardly think this is an appropriate conversation.”

“I don’t care.” The ex-vengeance demon scowled. “I’m tired of trying to be appropriate, and if the world is going to be overrun by Turok-han and Bringers and other minions of the First, I don’t see why it should matter anyway.”

There was a bizarre sort of logic to that, like most of what came out of Anya’s mouth. Giles inclined his head to acknowledge it, then sighed. Truth be told, perhaps the question wouldn’t have startled him so much if he hadn’t been watching her and contemplating what an old soul lurked behind the façade of the lovely young woman: an old soul with her own kind of ancient wisdom. Or perhaps if both the old soul and the lovely young woman didn’t fascinate him so, far more than was proper for the former fiancee of a young man he considered almost a son.

“And besides,” she continued in a tone of voice that would have made you believe she was saying the most rational thing in the world if you didn’t listen to the words. “It’s all your fault anyway. If you weren’t such a good kisser, I would never have been a little bit relieved when Xander left me at the altar because it meant I could stop wondering if it was inappropriate to be having lustful thoughts about a man other than my intended husband.”

Giles almost choked again–perhaps it might be best to simply give up on his tea until the conversation was over. Anya had been having lustful thoughts about *him*? Since before the disaster at the wedding?

“Well?” she demanded. “Are you going to answer my question?”

He stammered: “I…I…”

He never got a chance to complete that thought, because at that moment Buffy, Xander, Andrew, Willow and Dawn piled through the front door, followed by an army of Potentials, back from scavenging the deserted town for supplies. But–he promised both himself and her silently–he would certainly consider it.

Posted in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Giles/Anya, Het | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: One More Sunset (BtVS, Willow/Tara)

Author’s Note: Thanks to Ari, for taking me seriously when I said I wanted an exacting beta. 🙂 I don’t know if these changes are enough, but I hope so. And if not, consider this the second draft of however many the story needs. 🙂

Set sometime after Willow’s return to Sunnydale in Season 7 but before “Selfless.” This is not a songfic, I promise. I just have this thing about opening stories with a quote, and this time it was a song. 😉 Specifically, “One More Day” by Diamond Rio.


One more day, one more time
One more sunset, baby, I’d be satisfied
But then again I know what it would do
Leave me wishing still for one more day with you

–Diamond Rio, “One More Day”

Xander was probably going to kill her, but what was she supposed to do? Anya was a vengeance demon, the patroness of scorned women, and Amy was feeling scorned. Besides, ignoring the vengeful thoughts of the average person on the street was one thing, but like any demon, when a powerful witch went to the trouble of summoning her, Anya did as she was told or things went badly.

Nevertheless, the fact remained that Xander was going to kill her. And if Xander didn’t, then Buffy almost certainly would. And in a much more literal sense of the word “kill” than Xander was even capable of. If there was one thing she’d learned the hard way being around those two, it was that nobody messed with Willow and got away with it. And that was exactly what Amy had in mind–messing with Willow. Of course, Xander and Buffy aside, Anya had to admit that a very, very secret part of her wasn’t entirely unconvinced that Willow didn’t deserve it. She had, after all, tried to end the world. And worse, she’d destroyed the Magic Box and all of Anya’s potential income along with it.

That being said, she did hope that whatever Amy intended to wish for wasn’t *too* horrible. She liked Willow well enough when she wasn’t being all veiny and dark magicky and trying to kill people and destroy the world and private property.

“I wish,” Amy started in a loud, overly dramatic voice that almost made Anya roll her eyes. The one drawback to people who knew their wish was going to be answered was that they tended to overdo the actual act of wishing. “I wish that Willow would experience what it’s like to have her dreams–her whole life–ripped away from her.”

The vengeance demon just stared, disbelieving. “Well, that’s a stupid wish if I ever heard one.”

Amy bristled. “Excuse me?”

Clearly the time as a rat had addled or shrunken her brain, Anya thought, exasperated. “She already did that. Buffy died, she brought her back only to discover she’d yanked her out of heaven, she got addicted to magic, Tara left her, Tara came back, Tara died, she went evil and tried to destroy the world…or did your beady little eyes manage to miss that somehow?”

The witch’s eyes darkened. “No. I mean I want her to get a glimpse of the perfect life she could have had, if none of those things had happened. And then I want it ripped away from her.”

Anya let out a melodramatic sigh. In her opinion, it still showed a distinct lack of imagination, but at least it didn’t involve a messy death or maiming or something else that Xander and Buffy really wouldn’t ever forgive her for. “Oh all right. Done.”

~+~+~+~

The sun was warm but not harsh on her closed eyes. The room smelled faintly of jasmine, rose and vanilla, like a sense memory of their favorite incense. Never mind that she hadn’t burned a single stick since that day: dreams weren’t supposed to be logical.

A soft breeze stirred through an open window somewhere, and she could hear fabric rustling and the quiet pad of bare feet on carpet, almost as noiseless as a ghost. Her ghost.

Willow sighed and snuggled deeper into the pillows, not yet willing to leave this illusion behind for reality. A peaceful smile, so elusive in the waking world, crossed her lips as she felt the mattress dip slightly beneath a familiar weight and a puff of breath caressed her ear along with a musical alto voice that she’d never again hear outside her dreams.

“Hey, slugabed,” the memory of Tara prodded fondly. “You going to stay there all day?”

“Yep,” Willow murmured sleepily. All day. All year, if she could. Anything to stay in this place where she could pretend to still be happy. “If I wake up, you’ll go away.”

Tara laughed throatily and Willow’s heart contracted painfully with missing. The memory of long honey-blonde hair whispered across her cheek and the voice drew even closer. “I’m not going anywhere. ‘From this life to the next,’ remember?”

Lips that she knew as well as her own found the pulse in her throat, and Willow woke up. Bolted up, and stared in disbelief at the vision in front of her. Her voice, when she finally found it, had a raw edge of desperate hope. “Tara?”

Willow’s hands flew up of their own accord, touching warm, solid arms, shoulders, face…warm and corporeal and alive, so very alive. “Oh my God…you’re here. You’re alive. You’re…you’re…you’re real, right? Please be real.”

Tara immediately shifted into comfort mode, pulling her lover closer and placing a reassuring kiss on her forehead before pulling her into her arms. “Hey, hey, it’s okay…I’m real, I promise.” Loving fingers brushed strands of red hair tenderly out of Willow’s face as she finally let herself begin to relax into the embrace. “What happened?”

She didn’t know where to start. “Well…you were dead. And I went evil. I killed…oh, God, Tara, I killed someone. A human. I made with the flaying and I almost destroyed the world, only Xander…Xander wouldn’t let me.” A sob welled up in her throat but she swallowed hard to try to force it down. “And Buffy was dead, but I brought her back, only she was in heaven, and you left me ’cause I was using too much magic and then you came back ’cause I was getting better but that was when…when…”

Tara shushed her softly, hands still running through her hair. “It’s okay, Willow. It was just a nightmare. I’m here, and you’re not evil.”

In spite of herself, the redhead shivered. It wasn’t just a nightmare. Or at least…if it was she’d been dreaming for over a year. But she was afraid to say that. Afraid that if Tara knew, she’d want her Willow back and she’d have to leave…

“Remember?” Tara continued in a soothing voice. “You were so upset about what Glory did to me that you threw Ben across a room and accidentally snapped his neck. That scared you so much that you wanted to swear off magic forever, but Giles convinced us to go to England with him instead for a few months and work with a coven he knew…”

The Coven. The Coven had gotten involved before everything went so horribly, horribly wrong. And all because she’d given in to an impulse she remembered fighting because she’d been so afraid of what Buffy and Tara would think of her, even though she’d hated Glory so much for hurting Tara, and hated Ben for being Glory even though it wasn’t his fault…

“…and they taught us how to use our power in harmony with the Earth instead of taking from it?” she asked in a small voice, as if remembering instead of guessing based on her own experience with the Coven. “Or…or taught me, rather–I think you’ve always known that.”

Tara smiled shyly at the compliment and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “See? You do remember. And that’s why we decided to ask Miss Harkness and Giles to perform the ceremony today.”

“Ceremony?” Willow squeaked.

Tara looked at her sideways and raised an eyebrow, something like a smirk hiding in the corner of her lips. “Will. Tell me you didn’t forget about our handfasting.”

Handfasting. She and Tara were…getting married. A surge of happiness swept through her and she shook her head vigorously. “No. Definitely not forgetting. I just…I’m just…”

“Nervous?” her lover guessed. “Me too.”

Willow nodded as the two of them fell back on the pillows together, still wrapped in each other’s arms. “‘From this life to the next’…is an awfully long time,” she remembered Tara’s earlier words.

Tara nodded against her chest. “Do you think we should have chosen something else? I mean, would you have rather done something more in keeping with your traditions instead of just the glass and the canopy?”

“No! No, baby, you’re the only one I ever want to be with,” she pledged with heart and soul. “You’re my always. And besides, it’s not like Judaism has a whole lot in the way of wedding traditions for two girls.”

Tara smiled wryly in acknowledgment. “My always,” she echoed. “But Willow…if anything ever did happen to me…I wouldn’t want you to be alone. I’d want you to find someone else, at least for the rest of this life.” She snuggled boldly closer. “As long as I get you back the next time around.”

Willow smiled ruefully. “Let’s not talk about that, okay? Awake now, see? Nightmare over. Now…today is all that matters.”

~+~+~+~

“There you are,” Buffy announced cheerfully when they finally emerged from their room. “I was just about to leave for the florist’s and wanted to make sure I didn’t forget anything.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Ivy wreath to symbolize marriage, rosemary for, um…remembrance–huh, no wonder you gave that one to Dawn–red, white and burgundy roses for passion, unity and beauty, violets for faithfulness, snowdrops for hope…and what’s Xander adding again?”

“Larkspur,” Tara supplied. “For humor and levity. And dock, for patience.”

“Humor and levity, of course,” Buffy grinned. “That’d be our Xander.”

A marriage wreath. Willow’s tummy felt tingly just at the thought. She was also relieved that Xander was contributing something to the wreath, since it meant that Xander hadn’t died in Tara’s place or something.

“Oh. And don’t forget tarragon,” Tara added with an adoring look in Willow’s direction that made her whole face glow. “For unselfishness.”

Unselfishness. A knot tied itself in Willow’s stomach again but she ignored it and forced herself to look away, afraid Tara would read it in her eyes and realize something was wrong. You weren’t being unselfish when you cast that spell to make her forget, a nagging voice in the back of her mind prompted. How is this any different?

“Right,” the Slayer agreed cheerfully, then frowned. “Suddenly I’m not so sure the florist will have all of these.”

“In Sunnydale?” Dawn contributed, coming into the room with her hands shoved deep in her pockets. “They probably do. And if not, Giles probably has it at the Magic Box. I bet he made sure to stock up, just in case.”

She flashed a beaming smile in Willow and Tara’s direction then, an expression that suddenly, painfully reminded the redhead of her Dawn’s excitement the morning Tara had come back, the last happy morning before she died. “I know I’m probably not the best person to be putting the unselfish thing in, but…”

“You’re a teenager, Dawnie. You’re supposed to be just a teensy bit selfish,” Willow informed her with a forced smile and an affectionate pat on the arm. “You’ll learn.”

She was beginning to realize that Tara back wasn’t the only treasure she’d been handed. If they’d gone to the Coven after Glory was defeated, this was a Dawn who didn’t have memories of a Willow so high on magic that she almost got them both killed. Maybe this was a Buffy, too, who never got yanked out of heaven by her friends, never had to learn all over again to want to live. And if so…

Was it so wrong to want to keep them?

“Okay, I’m off. Wish me luck,” Buffy declared, sounding like she was girding herself to go on patrol.

Apparently Willow wasn’t the only one who picked up on that. “Need backup?” Dawn asked, amused.

“Nope, somebody needs to be here when the ale arrives.” She stopped halfway to the door and frowned. “On second thought, Dawn, you’re coming with me.”

~+~+~+~

“Candles?”

Anya held up a box, an expression on her face that Willow couldn’t quite decipher. But her hands were bare and she and Xander avoided looking at each other whenever possible, which made Willow wonder. This world was so perfect, it was jarring to think that something as dramatically un-perfect as Xander and Anya’s wedding that wasn’t might have happened here too. “Got ’em.”

“Altar?” Tara asked next without looking up, checking off candles on her list.

Xander’s spine visibly straightened as he pointed–a throwback to the soldier he’d briefly been responding to the voice of command. “Just waiting for the stain to dry.”

Willow smiled warmly at both of them. Xander for being his loveable, teddy bear self, Tara for the quietly efficient take-charge tone in her voice. “You didn’t have to make such a nice one for one use, y’know.”

He shook his head, eyes sparkling. “For my best friend and her best girl? Nothing but the best will do.”

Tara flushed and hid her face behind her hair, the shyness resurfacing for just a moment before she went back to her list. “Miss Harkness?”

“Giles is picking her and the rest of the Coven ladies up at the airport as we speak,” Buffy answered as she came into the yard, passing out bundles of herbs and flowers to each person involved in the wreath.

That made Willow frown, thinking of Giles’ tiny Citroen. “Are you sure they’ll all fit?”

“As sure as they’ll all fit in my back yard,” Buffy quipped, which meant not sure at all. The Summers’ back yard was pretty tiny, but UC Sunnydale had absolutely put their foot down about hosting a ‘religious’ ceremony of any kind in their quad, all of the churches in town were out for obvious reasons, and there wasn’t really any other space that everyone trusted to stay safe from interruptions of the supernatural sort. All the wards in the world wouldn’t keep everything out, but they were pretty sure no demon would be stupid enough to trespass on the Slayer’s own private property.

Still…with all the guests and everything for the ceremony, it was going to be a wee bit crowded. In an odd way, it was probably a good thing that no one wanted to involve the Maclay clan. Or that things between Willow and her own conservative Jewish father had been strained ever since he’d found out she was not only dating a woman but also a practicing witch.

Willow leaned against her lover with a smile and a happy sigh. She was Tara’s family now; this would only make it official. And even if her own mother was supposed to come, her real family–their real family–was already here, together and happy, as it should be. Tara and leaned in too, resting her head against Willow’s and twining their fingers together.

But not for you.

That niggling thought Willow shoved to the back of her mind almost angrily. So this wasn’t her world. What made that other her deserve it more than she did? Hadn’t she suffered enough?

“We don’t have to hold the ceremony in this dimension, you know,” Anya pointed out a little impatiently. Everyone just looked at her. “Granted, it is one of the more pleasant ones out there, but I’m just saying there are alternatives.”

“Nope, here’s good,” the redhead countered cheerfully. “It’ll just be a little cozy, is all.”

For a moment, their eyes met and Willow got the sudden, sick feeling that Anya knew. But how was that possible? What silly kind of vengeance would it be to give her everything she ever wanted?

“And we can definitely do cozy,” Tara agreed in a throaty voice that made her lover shiver deliciously. Gratefully, Willow tore her eyes away from Anya and returned the suggestive smile with one of her own.

“Somehow I don’t think things are going to get quite that cozy,” Xander joked.

“They better not,” Buffy agreed emphatically. “Not in my backyard where the neighbors can see. Cozy later, decorate now.”

“Work, work, work,” Dawn complained cheerfully, accepting an armful of greenery from her sister. “You’d think you were a responsible adult or something.”

~+~+~+~

The ceremony itself passed in something of a blissful whirlwind for Willow. She remembered Miss Harkness and Giles blessing the circle and invoking the four corners. She remembered each of her friends donating a piece of the wreath that she and Tara would hang in their room once it had dried–Buffy, the wreath itself as befitted the leader of the group, Xander bringing larkspur and dock, Dawn rosemary (for remembrance) and tarragon, Giles snowdrops and violets, and Anya (who was nothing if not passionate) roses.

She remembered Miss Harkness winding the scarlet and gold ribbon around their joined hands and she remembered exchanging silver rings engraved with a Celtic endless knot, a trifecta. She remembered the two of them stepping together on the wine glass and feeling it crunch beneath her feet with a finality that had made her heart soar.

But most of all she remembered how beautiful Tara looked in her ethereal blue-gray gauze dress–sea and sky to compliment Willow’s earthy dark green–and how it felt to look into her eyes and promise her everything: her heart, her life, her soul…her always.

When it was over, they mingled for a while before finally retreating to the relative quiet of Buffy’s sofa, content to just sit and hold each other. Willow couldn’t remember ever being so happy–Tara was alive, and better yet…she was her wife.

“Hey,” Buffy announced, plopping herself down next to her friend on the couch and smiling over the top of her head at Tara. “How’s married, er, handfasted life?”

“Sunshine and puppies so far,” Willow replied cheerfully, snuggling deeper.

“Then this should put you over the top,” Xander added holding out an envelope. The newlyweds looked up belatedly to notice that pretty much the entire Scooby Gang had deserted the reception and was now standing in a half circle around the coffee table.

They looked at each other, then Tara reached up and took the envelope. “What’s this?”

“It’s a wedding present,” Dawn announced with a bright smile. “From all of us, although Xander and Giles chipped in the most since, well, poor high school student. Only you have to open it now instead of after…well, later.”

Exchanging another look, Willow leaned in eagerly while Tara ripped open the envelope to reveal two tickets for the Pacific Surfliner, to San Diego, and a confirmation number for a reservation for two at the Hotel Del Coronado.

“It’s a…it’s a honeymoon?” Willow guessed, floored.

“Oh wow…you guys, you didn’t have to do this,” Tara protested half-heartedly, but the smile on her face was more magical than all the spells in the world.

Buffy grinned. “Okay, so San Diego’s not very far away but it was the only way we could afford a week at a fancy hotel on the beach and a limo to pick you up at the train station and take you there.”

“Speaking of, we should probably get you to the train station so you don’t miss your train,” Xander added, glancing at his watch.

“But…our guests,” Tara protested meekly, glancing over at the small cluster of Coven witches mingling around the buffet on the counter in the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, Tara, we’ll keep them occupied,” Giles promised with a fatherly smile. “Besides, I hardly think they would begrudge you.”

Tara smiled shyly.

“Our clothes–” Willow pointed out.

“Are neatly folded in suitcases and waiting at the top of the stairs,” Xander grinned. “That was Dawn’s contribution–she snuck upstairs and packed for you while you weren’t looking.”

“Since I didn’t have any money,” Dawn agreed with a chipper smile.

“Looks like we’re out of excuses, honey,” Tara mock-sighed.

“Guess so, unless some evil demony whatever decides to try to conquer Sunnydale this week and they end up needing us,” Willow agreed, unable to completely suppress a joyful smile.

Buffy shuddered. “Don’t even joke about that, Wills.”

Climbing off the couch with her partner in tow, both of them hugged each of their friends in turn. “So when do we leave?” Willow asked.

Xander glanced at his watch. “Considering the train leaves in half an hour, now would be a very good time.”

~+~+~+~

Willow sighed happily. Once they’d arrived and checked in, she and Tara had wasted no time breaking in the hotel room, and now lay exhausted and sated in each other’s arms. A place that she would be more than willing to stay for the rest of her life.

There was a knock at the door. “Room service,” a voice called.

“Funny, I don’t remember ordering anything,” Tara remarked drowsily and started to sit up.

Willow laid a hand on her chest to stop her. “It’s okay, sweetie, I’ll get it.” Reluctantly, she clambered out of bed and found a robe, tying it around her waist as she stumbled to the door.

The man on the other side smiled, holding the handles of a steel cart with a bottle of champagne and a bowl of strawberries on it. “I’ve been instructed to wish you congratulations from ‘the Scoobies.'”

“Aww, how sweet.” Willow stepped aside to let him push the cart into the room. “Look, baby, they sent us champagne.”

“And strawberries,” Tara enthused, crossing to her side with a sheet wrapped tightly around herself. The last time she’d done that…or at least the last time Willow remembered, had been the morning Dawn had caught them. And strawberries…

Internally, Willow flinched just a little. “You taste like strawberries,” her memory taunted her, but she shoved it aside.

The room service guy gave them a casual salute and stepped back into the hallway. “Have a good night, ladies.”

As the door closed, Tara plucked a strawberry from the bowl and popped it happily into her mouth. “It’s almost too good to be true, isn’t it? Just like we were two normal people, and there wasn’t a Hellmouth waiting for us at home, ready and eager to cause trouble.”

Willow forced herself to smile, the room suddenly feeling claustrophobic and accusing. Thief, it seemed to whisper to her. You stole all this. You don’t deserve it. It’s not yours.

Desperate for an out, she grabbed the empty ice bucket on the cart. “I’m just gonna go grab us some ice, ‘kay?”

Tara nodded and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, her own still red and sweet-tart with the juice. “Don’t be long.”

“I won’t. Promise.” And she wouldn’t. She just needed a moment to breathe, to convince herself that this was right, that this was where she belonged, not just where she wanted to be.

By the time she reached the ice machine in the hall, she had almost succeeded. Until she spotted the back of a disturbingly familiar blonde head standing there, staring away from her down the corridor. Oh no…no, it couldn’t be–

The blonde turned around, and Willow’s heart sank. “Anya?”

“It just figures, doesn’t it?” the vengeance demon complained with a deep sigh. “You get your perfect little world where Buffy and Tara never died, and Xander *still* leaves me at the altar.”

No wonder she’d been so uncharacteristically quiet all day. But wait–Anya knew? How did she…? “How did you know…?” Willow’s heart almost stopped as the look on Anya’s face told her everything she needed to know. “You’re here to take it all back,” she blurted, panic starting to rise.

“That was the wish,” Anya admitted. “You get one perfect day, then you have to go back to your regular life knowing how it could have been.”

Willow’s face crumpled. “But, who…?” Who would wish something like that on her?

“I can’t tell you. It’s against the rules, and I’m already on thin ice with D’Hoffryn as it is.”

“But…but…you don’t have to take it back, right?” she pleaded. “You granted the wish, can’t you just…say you forgot and left it this way?”

“No, I can’t. My power doesn’t work that way. I can’t only grant half a wish.” Anya folded her arms and frowned.

“Then…” The action drew Willow’s attention to the dark stone in its silver setting that hung around Anya’s neck and sent a surge of hope through her like adrenaline. “…I’ll break your necklace. I read in a book somewhere, that’s your power source. I break it, poof, wish undone.”

The vengeance demon took a startled step back, covering the talisman instinctively with one hand. “That would only reset everything back to the way it was, as if the wish was never made. Do you really want that?”

Willow almost cried. No matter what she did, she was going back. But to go back without that precious memory, of looking into Tara’s eyes as they vowed themselves to each other for eternity… “No.”

Anya nodded. “You still have the rest of today. When you go to sleep, you’ll wake back in our reality just like you woke up here.”

Willow nodded, grateful at least for that much. Now all she had to do was stay awake…and not break down and spill the whole story to Tara, ruining what little time they had left.

~+~+~+~

Tara was standing at the window staring out at the sunset when Willow returned to the room. She looked like a goddess wrapped in that golden glow, more beautiful than ever, and one look made all of her partner’s resolve to be brave fly out the window.

Crossing the room in a heartbeat, Willow pulled Tara into her arms and kissed her. Kissed her with all the passion, all the loneliness, all the longing and regret of the past year.

As soon as breathing forced them to separate, the words came pouring out as she clung to Tara’s arms like the lifeline they’d always been for her. “I love you, ‘kay? I’ll always love you, more than anything. Even if I do like you said someday and find somebody else, they’ll…they’ll never be you. Remember that, please?”

Tara let go, her eyes wide and frightened and her stammer returning like it sometimes did when she was nervous. “Willow? W-what’s going on? W-why are you suddenly talking like we’re never going to see each other again?”

Willow swallowed hard, but she had to tell her the truth. She owed her that much, or at least part of the ceremony they’d undergone was a lie. “That stuff I told you about this morning? It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. My reality. I didn’t tell you ’cause…well, I thought if you knew I wasn’t your Willow, you’d want your Willow back, and I thought I could stay but I can’t and you won’t remember me when I’m gone…”

For most of her monologue, Tara just stared bewildered, her mouth slightly open. When Willow paused to suck in a deep, sobbing breath, she reached out one hand to tenderly touch her lover’s hair. “That’s why you said ‘if I wake up, you’ll go away,’ isn’t it? All those things you told me…about me, about Buffy, about you…they really happened to you?” she asked in a quiet voice. There was no doubt, no skepticism in her tone, and why should there be? They’d all faced stranger things before.

Willow nodded miserably. “I know I’m being selfish again. Just like when I brought Buffy back, just like when I made you forget…but it’s so hard. I just wanted to go back to the way things were…when we were happy.”

Tara frowned, something uncertain and painfully familiar creeping into her eyes. “You made me forget? Forget what?”

Willow felt sick with fear–had she ruined everything all over again? “Not you you…my Tara. We had a fight. About magic–you were right, I was using too much. But I got scared, so I made you forget. And you found out…and you left me. And then when things were getting better, you died.”

The last sentence was a play for sympathy and she knew it, but what did it matter? She was going away anyway, going back to her Tara-less world and that hurt too much for her to care about anything else.

“Even knowing what Glory did, you still–”

“I’m sorry,” Willow whispered. “I know magic isn’t just for making all the bad stuff go away. And that’s why I should have told you right away, but I wanted…I wanted more time. But it was me that did it, not your Willow. Please don’t let what I did–”

Tara shook her head. “I would never…” She stepped closer again. “If I…if she left you, Willow, it wasn’t because she didn’t love you. I could never stop loving you. It was because…because she couldn’t bear to see you go down that road if there was something I could do to stop it.”

“I know.” And she did, despite the mixing up of pronouns. “But I still did it again. I took your special day away from the other me because I…I missed you. And now I have to go back, and I can’t take you with me.”

“Yes you can,” Tara promised, laying her hand over her partner’s heart. Her left hand, with the ring on it that they’d exchanged that afternoon. “I’m here. I’ll always be in your heart. I live there, just like you live in mine.”

They kissed again, this time with equal desperation on both sides. Then Tara stepped back and held up her hand for Willow to see the ring with its pattern of trifectas. “‘From this life to the next,’ remember? In any lifetime, any reality…you are my Willow. You’ll always be my Willow, and I’ll always be yours no matter what you do. And wherever I am, if you’re not there, I’ll wait for you. No matter how long it takes.”

Another kiss, and this time when they parted breathlessly, Tara asked: “How much time do you have?”

“Until I go to sleep. I’ll wake up…back there and you won’t remember I–me I, I mean–was ever here.”

Her partner smiled slyly and turned around, leading her by one hand back towards the bed. “Then I suggest we stay awake for a long, long time…”

~+~+~+~

Willow jerked upright in bed like a lightning bolt, staring around her in dismay at the dim, moonlit darkness. Oh God…no…she hadn’t meant to fall asleep. She’d meant to stay awake all night, then maybe…just maybe she’d get one more day. “Tara?” her frightened exclamation echoed in the empty room…her room, at Buffy’s house. Their room.

But the bed was empty. Tara was gone, and this time all the wishing in the world wouldn’t bring her back.

She swallowed a sob but a whimper still escaped. “Tara…”

“For what it’s worth–” The voice out of nowhere startled her, jerking her attention to the corner of the room just as Anya stepped out of the shadows. “–I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be so…effective.”

She did sound genuinely contrite, if a little defensive too. But that was Anya.

Willow flopped back on the bed and pulled a pillow over her head. She didn’t want Anya, she wanted Tara. “Go away.”

As usual, the vengeance demon was lousy at taking a hint, or even a direct command. “Just don’t tell Xander or Buffy, okay? It’s not like I had any choice, and–”

That made Willow angry. Yanking the pillow off, she scrambled out of bed to confront the other woman. “You didn’t have a choice? What about my choices, huh? Did I ask to spend one day living my perfect life and then come back here? To know what I could’ve had…”

She stopped, suddenly aware of a cold weight on her finger. Stunned, Willow lifted her hand in front of her and stared at the silver ring with its endless knot. Her wedding ring.

Anya shrugged, looking embarrassed. “The other you will probably freak out when she wakes up without it, but they’ll eventually give up on finding it and buy another one. Anyway, it’s not like she can demand it back like Xander did with our engagement ring.”

Willow frowned at her, for a moment startled out of her self-pity. “Xander…Xander did that?” Her Xander? That didn’t seem like him.

Anya sighed but admitted, “Unfortunately, no. It would have made hating him a lot easier if he had. But anyway, the ring is yours to keep if you want it. Think of it as a souvenir.”

Overwhelmed, Willow surprised them both by pulling Anya into a fierce hug. “Thank you. I mean…for everything, even the…yeah. At least now I know one of me got the happy ending, right?”

“Yes, unlike me and Xander,” the vengeance demon sighed melodramatically.

Willow forced a smile and closed her eyes. For a moment, she could pretend that the arms holding her were Tara’s–warm and loving instead of hesitant and a little awkward; smelling of rose and jasmine and vanilla instead of Anya’s expensive perfume.

From somewhere, maybe a window she hadn’t realized was open, a soft breeze whispered through her hair like familiar fingers then swept down to caress the ring on her hand. And on that breeze was the memory of a promise:

“Wherever I am, if you’re not there, I’ll wait for you. No matter how long it takes.”

And I’ll find you, she promised in return. No matter how long it takes.

Posted in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Femslash, Willow/Tara | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: Stranger Angels (BtVS/TW, Jack/Anya)

Author’s Note: Written for Sweet Charity, for Natascha. Spoilers: BtVS—”Chosen,”; Torchwood—”End of Days.” To Fleta and Jaime for the last-minute betas and Medie for the title: thanks! 🙂


“Name?” The blonde with the clipboard in her hands looked bored, and who could blame her? She was sitting at a white reception desk in what appeared to be a hospital lobby, also decorated in white by someone with very little imagination and a fascination with clouds. Clouds covered the walls, apparently intended to create the illusion of standing in the sky, but failing miserably. Clouds covered the carpet, probably with the same failed intent. Every item of furniture was a perfect, pristine shade of white that would have been scandalized by a speck of dirt, but there was no such audacious speck to be seen.

Her interviewee smiled, displaying equally bright white teeth in a smile designed to charm the pants off anyone within range—male, female, otherwise, both or undecided. “Captain Jack Harkness.”

She frowned and flipped up a couple of pages on her clipboard. “That’s not the name we have on file.”

“It’s not the name I was born with,” he admitted with a little shrug, “but it’s mine now.”

His interviewer nodded. “Yes, of course. I prefer Anya myself, although Anyanka served me well too. Much better than Aud.” She jotted something down and moved on. “Killed in battle with the demon, Abaddon, I see—he never did have any manners. Age at time of death?”

“Which one?”

She looked up at him with one slender eyebrow raised and frowned. “Which age or which death?”

“Either.” Jack smiled at her again, just in case she hadn’t seen all of his perfect teeth the first time.

She flipped through a few more pages and let out an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, good, you’re a repeat customer. That means we can skip all the initial boring formalities and go straight to the intermediate boring formalities.”

“And what boring formalities would those be?” Jack asked, seating himself on her desk, well within her personal space. “What is this place?”

“Heaven, of course. You’re dead—at least for the time being.”

He laughed shortly, a hollow, bitter sound and a stark contrast with his flirtatious manner of a moment before. “Right. Because I’ve been dead before, and I know I’ve never been here.”

His guide or whoever she was shook her head. “Of course you have. You just weren’t allowed to remember—not surprising, really. I suspect that being good would be far less popular if we knew what our ‘reward’ would be, and there would be a lot more deals with the devil in exchange for immortality.” She squinted at him. “I don’t suppose you’d care to share what particular deal you worked out?”

He shook his head. “Still working on that one myself.”

*Censored*,” Anya swore, then got an even more displeased expression on her face. “I really wish they wouldn’t do that. I’m used to my language being PG-13 rated at least. But around here we’re not allowed to talk about the other place. Not that I’d really want to go there either—boredom versus torture, it’s a tough call.”

“That bad, huh?” Jack flashed her a sly look, blue eyes dancing with mischief.

“Well, it’s not as bad as things were before Cordelia started really shaking up the Powers That Be—they had a lot to answer for after the Jasmine incident and Cordy was just the one to make them,” Anya admitted. “Still, you wouldn’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve had sex.”

Jack winced. “My sympathies. How long?”

Anya let out a melodramatic sigh. “Forever. Too many people here—even men—are convinced that being dead puts them ‘above’ such base behavior.”

Sensing an opportunity, Jack leaned in close to her, a broad smile spreading over his face. “Lucky for you, you’re talking to an expert in base behavior. How do you feel about necrophilia?”

She shot him a smile that went straight to his groin. “I was dating dead men while I was still alive. Ever *censored* a vampire?”

Jack laughed. He screwed his face up in a look of mock concentration. “Let’s see…human, cat, tree, Argolin, Centauri, Tythonian, Pakhar, Menoptra, Thal, Rill, Cryon, Mogarian, Time Lord, too many others to name…nope, no vampires. Guess I need to add them to my ‘to do’ list.” He winked at her.

Anya smirked. “What about a retired vengeance demon?”

“I certainly wouldn’t say no to one,” he answered so close to her ear that she could feel the words as easily as hear them, his breath caressing her neck even as his hands teased at the hemline of her blouse. “Tell you what. Since I’ve got some time to kill before I leave—maybe even a bit more than usual since I seem to remember dying pretty thoroughly this time—what do you say you and I liven up the place a little?”

Anya leaned in and kissed him, reaching eagerly for his belt. “I say heaven’s looking better already.”

Posted in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Torchwood, Crossovers, Het, Torchwood | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: Wit and Wisdom (BtVS, Giles/Anya)

“It was meant to be, you know,” she announces with complete confidence.

He rolls over to face her with a lazy, indulgent smile. She is half propped up in their bed, not even making a pretense at modesty by pinning the sheet to her chest with one hand, as many women would. The sunlight is filtering in through the window, catching the highlights in her hair and making it shine like the gold she’s so fond of. It also makes her bare skin gleam like the surface of a perfect, golden-white pearl.

“Is that so?”

Her answering nod is given with the same fresh enthusiasm she applies to so many pursuits, making her breasts bob tantalizingly above him. She is gloriously unashamed in his arms, for he was never the one who tried to teach her shame. And he loves her all the more for it, loves her in all her unabashed, brutal, honest splendor.

“We go together,” she explains patiently, almost as if to a child: the child he may as well be beside her, for all her eternally youthful spirit. “Wit and wisdom–you always see them together in books. Like, ‘The Wit and Wisdom of Abraham Lincoln,’ or ‘The Wit and Wisdom of Bugs Bunny,’ although how a bunny could be either witty or wise or anything other than terrifying is beyond me, particularly one named after a bug–“

Laughing, he interrupts her diatribe-in-the-making by pulling her down for a kiss. “Dear, dear Anya…” he whispers against her open, demanding mouth as they entwine themselves together once again, driven by a passion and need for each other that are never quite sated. “I never doubted it.”

Posted in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Giles/Anya, Het | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: ‘Til Human Voices Wake Us (BtVS, Giles/Anya)

Author’s Note: This was written as a response to “Chosen.” Which life is the dream and which is the reality is left up to the reader.


She’s not really dead. Not when he wakes.

No, that’s the part of that final battle that only haunts his nightmares. Nightmares that seem as vivid as reality, but thank whatever gods or powers there may be out there, the sound of him crying out her name in terror in his sleep always wakes her. And when her slumber is disturbed, his is sure to follow. She’ll wake him with a complaint, a grouchy command to stop scaring her. Or better yet, a scolding–if he doesn’t stop dreaming that she’s dead, immediately, she’s going to start to feel that he wishes she were.

But no…this dream has nothing to do with the wishes his heart makes. That dream came true in the long, aimless months when they wandered homeless through the country, the occupancy of the battered yellow school bus slowly dwindling as each refugee found their place in this new, changed world and chose to stay.

She’d come to him one night towards the end of that journey, begging not to be left alone. They’d just left Willow, Kennedy and one other behind in Colorado Springs and were slowly, steadily making their way back to California. He’d tried to turn her away, to be the gentleman despite the increasingly violent protests of his body and heart. But she’d always been blunt, rarely afraid to demand what she wanted from life, and the one thing that held her back had disembarked in the cold, bright winter blue of the Colorado February morning.

Willow and Xander. Xander and Willow. She had realized then that they would always be a matched set, like Will and Grace only–as she’d shortly, bitterly told him that very night–gender-flipped. Willow’s heart might belong to Kennedy now, and a piece of Xander’s still to this broken beauty at his door just as a piece of it still belonged to Buffy, but their loyalty would always belong first and foremost to each other.

That first night, he’d allowed himself to give no more than comfort. It was the only restraint he still had left where she was concerned. So, she slept in his arms all that night and for almost a week of nights to follow, but never did he rest in her warmth.

The nightmares had started the night she finally wore down his resolve. When she’d confessed in her own unique way that she’d “lusted after him unnaturally” since that confused, confusing night in the Magic Box. The night they’d shared their first kiss under the influence of a spell that stripped away their expectations and preconceptions and distilled them to who they were in the purest sense. That, truth be told, she’d harbored a secret fear that Xander had seen into her heart and seen that secret and for that reason turned away.

She’d told him she thought she might be in love with him, but if she was then she’d never really loved Xander because it was like nothing she’d ever felt before.

He knows why they come, the nightmares. Why he can live and breathe her by day and often by night, but when consciousness flees, in his mind’s eye he still sees her fall, cut in two by a blade that shouldn’t be sharp enough to deprive the world of her special light.

Part of it is guilt, that maybe Xander will change his mind and come back to retrieve the fair but freakish maiden who should be his, and will find himself betrayed by the man who tried to be a father to them all but could not. For with her, every time that father-figure began to succeed, she would spew forth some seed of honest wisdom that reminded him that though she was young in humanity and in body, in experience and betrayal she is the oldest of them all.

But mostly it’s just that he’s sure she’s too good to be true. That any day he may awaken to discover this day to day reality, precious as it is, is what he’s been dreaming. That the nightmare that haunts him is reality trying to intrude upon a mind that no longer desires it. If the price of shaking the nightmare from his sleep is waking to it instead, then the cost is too high.

He’d rather wake screaming every night to the comfort of her extraordinary presence than wake reaching for her and give in to the scream upon not finding her there.

Posted in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Giles/Anya, Het | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: Given Name (BtVS/Firefly, gen)

Acknowledgments: My beta, Jenny, for doing her job and doing it so well. 🙂 Also to Medie, Deb, and Christina, for their steadfast encouragement.


He watches her sometimes.

At first, it frightened her. He has such a scary mind–memories of dark and terrible things, and of places and times people today aren’t supposed to know so intimately. But at the same time, he’s so gentle, and full of regret for those awful things.

She supposes that he has a name. People have names, like Simon, or Kaylee, or herself–River. But he’s never said what his name is. He doesn’t even think it. It’s as though he doesn’t even think of himself as a name. Just that regret. Or many regrets. And he tries to guard her from them, tries to protect her from the black things by not thinking about them, but sometimes he can’t help it.

The others don’t really understand what it’s like inside her head, but he seems to. When he looks at her, he remembers another woman, dark and beautiful and crazy like her…and he misses that woman. Even though she is evil and bloodthirsty and disappointed in him, he misses her sometimes. Just like he misses the blonde woman who went away many, many years ago.

Sometimes he looks at River and sees himself. Cold and frightened, hiding in dark places from feelings he thought he’d forgotten. Words from his memories run through her mind, words that she likes because she understands them: “No more mind games…no more mind.”

She feels like that sometimes. That she has no more mind. For other people’s minds have crowded into hers until there is no room left for her self.

So she starts watching him too, when he isn’t watching her. Watching, and listening to his silences.

Simon doesn’t like it. He doesn’t trust the stranger and often worries about his interest in her. She wants to tell him that the odd man with the yellow-white hair and the black eyebrows doesn’t want to hurt her, but she knows her brother wouldn’t understand. He can’t see the memories. He can’t see the dark-haired woman or the dark basement with its taunting shadows and visions.

She is slowly coming to realize that most people can’t see the things she sees.

But this man has. Or at least he’s seen things something like what she sees. Which means he understands. She doesn’t even understand herself sometimes, but he understands her.

So, she watches him.

The days on Serenity are long when there’s a job to be done. Simon has gone outside with the others in case anyone gets hurt, and the one they call Inara has taken her shuttle and gone out too. River is alone, except for the Shepherd with the scary hair, and the pilot, and the man with no name in his mind. He only helps out when it’s nighttime on the planet where they’ve landed. Mal doesn’t always like it, but the man pays his fare, so he won’t complain.

He doesn’t like daytime, this man with the hair like sunlight. It hurts him, like the awful men with blue hands hurt her. He stays away from the windows when it’s daytime and they’re on a planet, or in orbit close enough for the light to come through the glass. She understands–no one wants to hurt like that.

She wants to talk to him; she wants to ask him to help her understand herself like he understands her. She wants to ask about the woman with hair like night, and the girl with hair like day who was so mean to him until he…got his soul back. She wants to ask about that too. How does a person get a soul back, and is it really possible to lose one in the first place? Is it even scientifically plausible to assume that there is such a thing as a soul? Or is there just the mind, and if so, does losing your mind mean losing your soul? Has she lost her soul? And could he tell her how to get it back if she has?

“What’s your name?”

The man looks up, startled. He wasn’t expecting her to speak. She usually doesn’t when he’s around. She’s too busy listening.

“Do you have a name? I can’t find one.”

He smiles, and his smile is gentle and sad–like Simon’s–but empathetic at the same time, which Simon can’t be no matter how hard he tries.

“I’ve had a few. Depends on which one you want.”

“Which one are you now?”

The stranger hesitates, wavering. He runs a hand over his slick hair and blows out a long breath, his mouth opening and closing in indecision before he finally reaches out and grasps hold of a word in his mind. “Spike. Call me Spike.”

She frowns as the name connects itself to the other words in his mind, and she tries to follow. “No–that’s the dark name. The name with all the black memories, all the death and the sadness.”

Spike–no, she can’t call him that. The yellow-haired man laughs ruefully. “Every name I’ve ever answered to has sadness, Pet.”

Pet? He has given her a name–but she already had one. Why does she need another?

Well, if he can give her a name when she doesn’t need one, surely she can give him one when he does. “Then you need a new name.”

This smile is indulgent and not so sad. “And you’re the one to give it to me, are you?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then. My turn to ask you–what’s my name?”

She studies him, a frown tucking her eyebrows together as she skims the lines of his face with her eyes. He’s all light and shadows–white-gold light in his hair, blue light and blue shadows in his eyes, the angles of his face casting some into light and some into shadow. But light and shadow isn’t a proper name, is it? She needs something else, something that speaks of light and shadows, but doesn’t say it directly.

“You stand in the balance between light and dark,” she sing-songs, still pondering the problem. “There was another one–another like you–what happened to him?”

His eyes flicker with envy. “Got his Shanshu, married the woman he loved, and shuffled off this mortal coil five hundred years ago.”

She nods. His words are mixed up, but his mind is clear. “You’re alone…that’s why you’re so sad.”

He snorts softly. “I can assure you, Pet, I’m not pining for Angel.”

“No. But you know him now. You know what it was like to be him, even better than you did then. You know what it’s like to be alone, and you wish you hadn’t been as alone back when you weren’t. You wish you’d been friends.”

Her words are making him uncomfortable and he shifts in place.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–“

Unexpectedly, a finger lights on her lips and he smiles again. “Don’t be. Hard not to trigger bad memories when a bloke’s got so many of ’em. Like a minefield in there.”

“I was going to give you a new name,” she reminds them both.

“So you were–guess we both got a little distracted, eh?”

She smiles. She likes him. Somehow she thinks she knew she would, but it’s nice to be sure of something. So many things are unsure nowadays. So many people around her too. Even Simon isn’t even always sure what to do, especially with her. Even this understanding stranger is unsure of himself: if he is neither an angel of the light nor a devil of the dark, what is he?

And suddenly she is sure of something else. “Daemon–it was the name of a guardian spirit in Greek mythology. And someone who stands between light and dark is a kind of a guardian, isn’t he?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “It also sounds an awful lot like demon, you realize, Pet?”

“I know. But it’s not. You’re not.”

She knows it is right, because the name is in her mind now. He is Daemon, not Spike, not the other name that she still can’t find in him. Daemon. Her guardian spirit, like a demon, but not one. And he knows it’s right because he’s nodding.

“I remind you of her, don’t I?” she asks next.

Daemon doesn’t question how she knew, just nods again. “Drusilla? Yeah.”

“What made her like me?”

The answer isn’t in his memories, but it is in his head. Death. Death and blood and grief. So many ways to hurt someone…even without sticking things into their heads.

“Oh.”

Most people would look surprised that she plucked the answer right out of their minds. He just looks at her knowingly. For a minute, he wants to ask her the same question and she starts to pull away. Two by two, hands of blue–no, no, she doesn’t want to think of them. They’re far away. They won’t find her. Simon won’t let them find her–he promised.

Daemon shushes her softly, one hand reaching out gently to touch her hair. “I won’t hurt you,” he promises.

She shivers, pulling a whimper back into herself. “I know.”

They are interrupted before he can tell her more. The big outside doors begin to open and Daemon snatches his hand back, backing away from the sunlight that has begun to stream in. He’s also afraid of what Simon will say if he sees them sitting together, but Simon has already seen. He isn’t happy.

She flies to him. “Simon!”

Maybe he won’t be angry, maybe he won’t say mean things to her new friend, if she can show him no harm has come to her. Then later back in their cabin, she’ll explain to him. “He understands,” she will say. And she’ll tell him that she’s given him a new name, one with no bad memories. A name to make new memories for.

Simon will understand that. That’s what they are doing here, after all. Making a new life. Making new memories.

Maybe they should give themselves new names too.

Posted in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Firefly, Crossovers, Firefly/Serenity, Gen | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: This Is the Morning (Narnia/DCU, Peter/OC)

Author’s note: Written for Christina A. at a rough time in her life *HUG* and thus features an OC she and I sorta created together, although in a totally new context. 🙂 No idea where this came from, really, although the idea has been simmering for months. I blame Medie for it finally reaching a boil! *g* Also, for the purpose of this story, Peter was about 20-21 at the time of TLB. No one belongs to me except for Hope, and I only have joint custody of her.


“The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”
–Aslan, The Last Battle

In her dream, he was dressed like a King: all in crimson velvet with the face of a lion embroidered on his chest, a gold cloak pinned at his throat with a great ruby, and a golden crown on his head, bringing out the golden glints in his hair. It made sense in an odd sort of way–he’d always had such a regal bearing that classmates at Oxford had dubbed him “Sir Peter.” What was more surprising was that when she looked down at herself, she realized she was wearing a gown crafted out of the same soft velvet, and a golden chain hung around her neck with a pendant bearing a nearly identical ruby.

They were walking in the courtyard of a palace more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen before. Somewhere nearby, she could hear the ocean crashing against the shore, and the sunlight hitting the stained-glass windows high above their heads bathed them in a whole spectrum of light. The air was both warm enough not to be cold and cool enough not to be hot, disturbed only by a pleasant breeze that carried the light, heavenly scent of wildflowers and newly-cut grass and honey still in the hive. In the center of the courtyard, a marble fountain laughed, splashing down into a pool that had red and gold roses floating on its surface. Even though she knew she was dreaming, it felt impossibly real. Realer even than the waking world.

If she had been awake, she might have stopped to wonder how any of this could be possible, but as it was, Peter’s hand was in hers, warm and alive, and nothing else mattered.

“How’s Su?” he asked quietly.

Hope’s stomach flipped and she blinked back tears at the unwanted reminder of what awaited her when she woke. “As well as can be expected. Oh, she busies herself with preparations for the funeral and tries to pretend she’s not dying inside–you know how Susan is–but every so often the mask slips and you can see it in her eyes.”

Peter’s eyes dropped and a rueful frown crossed his face.

“It would have been bad enough if it were just you, but to lose Lucy and Edmund and both your parents as well…and people have been just beastly, of course.” Even though it felt wrong to be sad or angry or anything but delirious with joy in this place, she couldn’t help a note of bitterness that crept into her voice. “I never knew how odious pity could be until…” Her throat closed on the last words and she swallowed, hard.

“I’m sorry. I wish we could have brought you with us, but Su wouldn’t hear of it and I didn’t know–”

Hope pulled away suddenly, chilled by his words. “You wish…you wish we would have *died* with you?”

“Hope,” Peter coaxed, reaching for her hand again and waving his other hand at the scene around them. He smiled, that wonderful, brilliant smile that had first captured her heart on a snowy commons at Baliol only a year ago. “Does this look like death to you? I’m alive. We all are–Mum, Dad, me, Ed, Lu…we’re more alive than we ever were.”

She shivered, looking around suddenly with new eyes. “Is this…is this heaven, then?”

He smiled. “Some might call it that. Others call it paradise, Aslan’s Country–”

“Aslan’s Country?”

Peter’s smile widened and he pointed towards the entrance of the courtyard. Hope caught her breath as, for the first time she saw a great lion standing in the shadows. He stepped forward into the light, and Hope’s heart hammered even harder. She lifted her eyes to meet the lion’s great golden ones, and found herself drowning in them.

“Welcome, Daughter of Eve,” the lion spoke, and his voice was like honey and velvet, steel and running water, a father’s embrace and a mother’s tears all rolled into one. Instinctively she found herself dropping to one knee, and knew without looking that Peter had done the same at her side.

“Aslan,” Peter spoke, and she could hear the love and respect in his voice for this creature. “I’ve no idea how she came here, but…this is Hope O’Neil. My betrothed.”

The lion rumbled and Hope could almost swear he was laughing fondly. “How does anyone come into my country, Son of Adam, unless I bring them?”

He stepped closer, so that Hope could feel his warm breath on her face, but amazingly she wasn’t afraid. His voice, when he addressed her again, was quiet and sad. “You have been given no easy task, Daughter of Eve. It takes great strength to shoulder not only one’s own grief, but that of another. You have been a friend to Susan in a dark hour, and a sister to comfort her in the loss of the one she had. And while she may have forgotten Narnia, I have not forgotten her. Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen.”

Hope realized with a sudden start that there was a weight on her head. One hand flew up to find a light diadem, sculpted in the shape of a twisted vine blooming with tiny roses, her favorite flower, and a little gasp escaped her lips.

Aslan’s eyes crinkled and she could swear he was smiling at her. “Did you think that the chosen consort of the High King would not be a Queen?”

Now she knew she was dreaming. “High King?” Hope squeaked. She looked at Peter, half expecting to see laughter in his eyes at the fantastic joke the two of them had played on her. Instead, she saw again what she had always seen since the day they met, only with new eyes. The nobility and gentility of spirit that had made him seem so much older than his classmates at Oxford and earned him his nickname. The wisdom beyond his years, the dignity and strength of heart that had always made it seem as if he could shoulder the responsibility of a world. And finally, the golden crown that she’d attributed to a romantic fancy.

Peter was a king, not just in name but in every sense of the word. And Aslan had named her his Queen.

Her heart soared for a moment, then sank just as quickly as she realized the implication of those words. To reign at Peter’s side over whatever kingdom he ruled…to stay here with him forever: there was nothing she wanted more. Except…she thought of Susan, so stoic and yet so fragile. Of her sister, Grace, who’d raced to her side as soon as she heard the news about Peter. Of her father, who had no one left except his girls.

“But…I can’t stay. My family needs me. Susan needs me. You said I was a comfort to her–would you take that away from her so soon after losing her family?”

Aslan inclined his great head in acknowledgment. “I would not. That is why the next time you come here, it will be to stay. But for now…as you have said, you are needed elsewhere.”

Peter’s hand tightened on hers. “But what if I need her too?” he asked.

“For you, the parting will be brief. It is Hope who will have to endure the wait, and she has made her choice,” Aslan told him gently, before looking to her once again. “I would give you a task to carry back with you to your world–will you accept it?”

It was on Hope’s lips to ask what the task was before she said yes, but something deep in her heart assured her that Aslan would never ask anything of her that she couldn’t do. “I will.”

“Susan, too, was once a Queen of Narnia, but she has chosen to forget. I would not have her forever parted from those she loves, so I ask you to help her remember who she is. You were brought here to be a hope-bearer, not only for yourself but also for her. Tell her what you have seen, and tell her that she is not forgotten.”

“I will. I promise.” Impulsively she threw her arms around Aslan’s neck, burying her face in his mane as if she’d known him all her life. Part of her wondered if she had.

When she pulled away, Hope turned to Peter and threw herself into his embrace. He held her tightly, not wanting to let go anymore than she did.

“Are you sure you want to go back?” he asked in a murmur. “I don’t know if I could bear it.”

“Aslan wouldn’t have asked me if I couldn’t, would he?” she answered. Peter shook his head and kissed her fiercely before letting go. “I’ll be back before you know it,” Hope promised in a whisper, before squeezing his hand one last time and letting go to follow Aslan out of the courtyard.

The pain of parting was no less real, but now it was tempered with a wild hope.

Posted in Batman/The Chronicles of Narnia, Crossovers, DC Universe, Het, Peter/OC, The Chronicles of Narnia | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment