I Dream Of You, To Wake (Angel/BtVS/SG1/SGA) Gen, PG-13
Title: I Dream Of You, To Wake
Author: havocthecat
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Mentions of canon character death. Some violence.
Characters: Sam Carter, Cassie Fraiser, Halfrek, Illyria, Daniel Jackson, Jack O'Neill, Qetesh, John Sheppard, Spike, Teal'c, Elizabeth Weir, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce
Disclaimer: Not my characters, nor my worlds.
Fandom(s): Angel, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate: Atlantis, Stargate: SG-1
Summary: SG-1 and Cassie attend Janet's wake and set events in motion with a wish. Later, Elizabeth and John look for Ancient texts hidden away on Earth. In Los Angeles. In the Hyperion hotel, specifically.
Author's Notes: A long time ago, I started to think about how I would create the most messed-up alternate universe possible for Stargate. I never got a chance to write the rest of the au, due to the fact that I wasn't going to turn this into another 20k word fic. I think the introduction to the SG1/SGA Wishverse (free Jossverse crossover included!) can stand as a story on its own, though. This story ignores entirely the BtVS and AtS comic books, since I've never read them. Thank you to medie for plot-bouncing and beta duties. They were rather necessary in this one.
I dream of you, to wake: would that I might
Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
As, Summer ended, Summer birds take flight.
In happy dreams I hold you full in night.
I blush again who waking look so wan;
Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
Thus only in a dream we are at one,
Thus only in a dream we give and take
The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
To die were surely sweeter than to live,
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.
--Monna Innominata, by Christina Rossetti
Post-Ep, Heroes I & II
She sat in the living room and stared blankly at the wall. Everyone passed by, voices hushed, offering her sympathetic glances, but no one met her eyes. Cassie tugged her black skirt down, but it didn't reach her knees. The house was so quiet, even with so many visitors. Sam passed by, squeezing her arm and barely giving her a glance before Daniel swept her off. General Hammond nodded, offering her a plate full of vegetables, but Cassie declined.
"Hey." A stranger sat down on the sofa with her. She had dark, curly hair, and a look on her face that stopped just short of pitying. "You doing okay?"
Cassie snorted. "Right. Because today's such a cheerful kind of day." God, she'd been hanging out with Jack too much.
"I'm sorry about your mom," said the woman.
"She's not my mom," said Cassie shortly. Even if she'd been the next best thing, and even if she'd loved Janet like a mother.
"I understand you're mad," said the woman. "It's one of the stages of grief. I'm Hallie Addams. I was one of the therapists at the medical institute your mom - Dr. Fraiser - worked at."
"Look, Dr. Addams?" Cassie crossed her arms and leaned back on the sofa. "No offense, but I think I can figure out how to grieve on my own. I don't need a therapist to tell me what the stages of grief are." She didn't care how stubborn she sounded, or that Jack was nudging Sam and gesturing over in their direction.
"Yeah, I guess you know that already," said Dr. Addams.
Cassandra rolled her eyes. "You worked there. You'd know, right?" God, she hated the SGC right now, and every single goddamn person who was involved in it. She looked up and met Daniel's guilt-ridden eyes, and then they both looked away. She hated all of them.
"So if you had one thing you wish you could do over again, or that anyone could do over again, what would it be?" asked Dr. Addams.
"That's a stupid question," said Cassie flatly. She snuck a look back up at Daniel. He was staring at Dr. Addams, his forehead wrinkled slightly in thought.
"No, seriously, think of this as an exercise in what-ifs," said Dr. Addams. "If you could wish yourself into any alternate universe, what universe would you wish yourself into?"
"Cassie, I don't think this is such a good--" started Daniel.
"What do you know?" snapped Cassie. "You got Mom killed." That wasn't fair, and she knew it, but damn it, they'd buried Janet today. Cassie covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she choked back first one sob, and then another. Jack was standing behind Daniel, Sam just behind Jack, and they were all just standing there, none of them knowing what to do.
Dr. Addams handed her a tissue, her eyes full of understanding, as Teal'c sat down next to her. "I am sorry, Cassandra," he said, his eyes as compassionate as they had been the first time she'd met him, on Hanka. When she'd been a living bomb, and no one had known it, but Teal'c had figured it out, and he'd saved her life as much as Janet or Sam had. Teal'c opened his arms, and Cassie clung to him, trying not to sob into his shirt and ignoring the stupid hat on his head.
"I miss her," muttered Cassie, swiping at her eyes with one hand.
"We all miss Dr. Fraiser. We will never be able to say how much." Teal'c's voice was soft and low, the kind of tone he'd use to sing a lullaby to a baby. Sometimes Cassie wished she was a baby again, or still on Hanka and that Nirrti had never come to kill them all.
"It's okay to grieve," said Dr. Addams, leaning forward and putting one hand lightly on Cassie's back. "Make a wish and pretend it'll get better."
"Uh, no wishing," said Daniel, one finger in the air. He pointed at Dr. Addams. "Just a minute, I'll remember where I heard that before--"
Cassie wrenched herself upright, shaking off Dr. Addams' hand and scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her face. "I know it's okay to grieve!" She stood up, backing up, as the entire crowd in the living room turned to face her. God, Janet had known a lot of people. "I lost one mother already, Daniel. I just wish that Janet didn't have to die too!"
Dr. Addams laughed, and her face had changed. It was shot through with veins. The first thing Cassie thought was alien, and the second was, she's not a Goa'uld.
Jack shouted, and Cassie saw him rushing forward, pulling a gun from his leather jacket. Teal'c stood and loomed over Dr. Addams, who laughed at him. "Granted!" she said, standing up and flourishing her arms, a wide smile on her face.
Everything vanished as Cassie was caught up in an onrushing wave of darkness.
***
Two Years Later
"Here we are." Elizabeth stepped out of the car, closing it behind her and pocketing the keys. The wind blowing down the empty street blew her hair into her face, and she brushed it back with an impatient frown.
"You're sure this guy will talk to us?" John got out of the car and squinted up at the faded, dimly lit sign. "The Hyperion, huh?"
"It was quite the place once upon a time," said Elizabeth. She leaned on the hood of the car and smirked over at John. "It had a reputation for assignations."
"Think we can get a room for an assignation of our own?" asked John, leaning on the hood and grinning.
"We're going to have to share," said Elizabeth, straightening and coming around the car. "The government's not going to foot the bill for our trip, you know that."
"I thought you had money," said John, falling into step next to her.
"I did. I don't have as much of it now." Elizabeth paused, her hand resting on the door handle. Her other hand brushed against cracked paint. "Are you ready for this? Some of the information we've uncovered about this hotel and its history--"
"I'm ready," said John firmly. "You're the civilian here."
"I'm a civilian who is perfectly capable of taking care of herself," said Elizabeth primly. "After everything we've gone through, do you still think you have to coddle me?"
"Not really," said John, slouching against the door. "I just like to." He jerked his head at the door. "Come on, let's go."
They opened the door and stepped inside. The lobby was covered with a thin layer of dust, small puffs of it rising up as Elizabeth and John walked. A man with bleached, gelled hair wearing worn jeans and a faded black t-shirt was leaning the front desk, staring down at a video game controller held in his hands. "We're not open," he said, his British accent short and clipped. He didn't look up, and the game beeped as he pressed buttons almost too fast for the game to keep up.
"Do you hear that honey?" drawled John, turning to Elizabeth. She looked up curiously. "There's no room at the inn. Does this mean you'll have to have your baby in the stables?"
Elizabeth raised one eyebrow at John as the man's head whipped up. "You're not pregnant," he said, glaring at Elizabeth's stomach, "and we don't have any stables."
"We've got a guy with a real flair for the obvious here," said John, jerking his thumb at the man.
"John's got a rather unique sense of humor," said Elizabeth, walking forward. "Are you Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?" He was British, after all, though her file said that her contact had attended Oxford. This man had certainly not got the accent she was expecting.
The man's face set. "He's not here."
"That's kinda funny," said John tightly, "because we know he's expecting us."
"Sucks to be you, then." The man's lip curled at them as he nodded at the door. "Don't come back."
"Maybe he doesn't tell you everything," said John, crossing his arms.
"Leave." The man planted one black-nailed hand on the counter and shifted his weight. Elizabeth wondered if he was going to leap over the counter at them.
It was easy to miss the subtle tension that started to thrum through John, but Elizabeth had been working with him for too long. "You didn't say please."
"John." Elizabeth laid her hand on his arm. "Let's just call him."
"No need." The cultured accent was more of what she'd been expecting. Elizabeth glanced over to see a pale man, chin covered in stubble, wearing khakis and a well-worn oxford button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. This was Wesley, then. "Dr. Weir. Major Sheppard."
"You didn't say--" started the man.
"It's personal business, Spike," said Wesley sharply. "Nothing to do with Angel Investigations."
"Not that Angel is here to do a bloody thing with Angel Investigations in the first place," muttered Spike. "Idiot that he is. You up for this?"
"It's a simple transaction." Wesley's gaze hadn't left Elizabeth's. "Do you have it?"
Elizabeth nodded once. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see John looking lazily at Spike. John's smile was easy, but Elizabeth had seen him like this before. He was ready for things to go dangerously awry.
In their line of work, things often went dangerously awry.
"Then I have your books." Wesley turned, stepped back into the room he'd come from, then paused. "They're in here."
***
Elizabeth looked up, her hand going back to rub at her sore neck. Wesley was staring at her curiously. "Something?" she asked. John was sprawled on a chair in the corner and watching them both.
"I haven't been able to come up with a translation for any of those books," he said, tapping the stack on the table in front of Elizabeth. "Yet you're fluent enough to be able to read them without any sort of reference material. You also have the Eye of Ra. No one's seen that in decades. Its last known owner was Dr. Catherine Langford." His voice was thoughtful and slow.
"I can't reveal where I received my information," said Elizabeth. She knew her voice was more tired than she wanted, but this was the part that wore on her. If Wesley got too inquisitive, they'd have to deal with the problem. "I said that on the phone."
"Yes, I recall that quite clearly," said Wesley. "I'm simply expressing curiosity."
"You'll have to find a way to live without finding out," said John. He was trying to balance a pencil on his fingertip.
"Hey, Wes!" A tall, lanky brunette bounced into Wesley's office. She beamed at John and Elizabeth and leaned against the door, rocking back and forth slightly. "We got clients? I've been kinda bored lately."
"No clients, Fred," said Wesley. "It's a personal matter."
"Personal and confidential," said John, looking from Wesley to Fred with dark eyes. "I thought we were going to be able to keep this visit quiet."
"Fred's not going to let anyone know you're here," said Wesley. He leaned toward her. "Are you, Fred?"
"Of course not, silly!" She made a waving motion with one hand as she walked easily into the room. Elizabeth moved the books carefully away as Fred hopped lightly onto the table, sitting on it and kicking her legs. "What books do you have? Wes doesn't let many people touch his books. I can't even get a look at them any more."
"You're not a person," said Wesley, his voice suddenly dark.
"Not a person?" John's voice was casual, but he was straightening up. "That's funny. Some of my best enemies aren't really people either."
"Some of them are," added Elizabeth.
"You just say that because Kinsey's so charming," said John, reaching into his jacket. "You know he wants you at his beck and call."
"Kinsey? Are you talking about President Kinsey?" asked Wesley. "What are you people involved in?"
Fred was looking down at the books strewn in front of Elizabeth. "Why do you have the books of the Alterans?" Her voice was stronger now, with no hint of the Texas accent from before. She was staring at Elizabeth with imperious eyes that had suddenly become an unnatural blue. "None of the pathetic mortals that now inhabit this planet can read this language."
John was on his feet, firearm drawn and pointed at Fred. "This is why we wanted to keep our business private," he said. "Think she's a snake, Elizabeth?"
"Your mortal weapons cannot harm me," snapped Fred.
John grinned unpleasantly. "Heard that one before."
"Illyria!" snapped Wesley. "You know what these books are?"
Fred - no, Illyria - jerked as she whirled to look at Wesley. Her brown hair was shot through with waves of blue, and her arms were covered in mottled blue skin. "Do not presume to give me orders because I tolerate your existence."
"Wesley, I think we need to speak privately," said Elizabeth, standing slowly. She leaned forward, open palms braced on the table. "Obviously, there are things we need to discuss."
"Are those the books we came for, Elizabeth?" asked John.
Elizabeth nodded. "They are." They books were old, but well-preserved. Far too well-preserved for their age. That alone spoke to their Ancient origin.
"Then get them, and let's get out of here," he said tightly. "Before this situation deteriorates."
"Bit late for that." Spike stood, arms crossed, in the doorway. "No one's leaving until I bloody know what brought Smurfette out to play."
"I hate alpha male types," muttered Elizabeth. She especially hated dealing with alpha male types she couldn't influence. She started to stack the books and slip them into a satchel she'd brought along.
"What about me?" asked John. He grinned, but his aim at Illyria didn't waver.
"Don't get me started on you," said Elizabeth, looking at him and arching her eyebrow. She zipped the satchel closed and slung it over her shoulder.
"Oh, please. Start. About time someone around here besides me took a tongue-lashing." Spike shrugged. "What do you people want?"
"You are not Alterans," stated Illyria. "That much is clear."
"Might be easier if we were," said John. Elizabeth had often thought it would be much easier if they were.
"The Alterans are barely mentioned in the earliest demonic histories," said Wesley. He reached for Elizabeth's satchel. "These are Alteran texts?"
"Demonic?" asked Elizabeth, whirling away from Wesley and backing up to stand next to John. She slung the satchel across her chest and held the strap tightly. "What do you mean 'the Alterans are barely mentioned--'"
"What the hell?" asked John. "We're not talking demonic, we're talking--"
"We're talking things you don't have the clearance to know," said Elizabeth. "None of you."
"The government doesn't take any interest in pesky things like demons," said Spike. "Not since the Initiative was shut down."
Elizabeth shot him a sharp glance. "You know about the Initiative project?" She'd only read the files after it was closed down.
"Elizabeth, I don't know about the Initiative project," said John. He grimaced. "I hate when things I don't know about affect a mission."
Spike rubbed the base of his skull. "I was a subject of the damn Initiative project."
"Is that so?" Elizabeth met Spike's tired gaze. He didn't seem dangerous, but of everything Elizabeth had encountered, the most innocuous-looking were always the dangerous ones. "What kind of demon does that make you?"
After a few seconds, Spike glanced away from Elizabeth. "Vampire," he muttered.
"And you?" asked Elizabeth, turning to Illyria. She clearly wasn't human, nor was she any kind of alien that Elizabeth had ever seen.
"I was the god-king of this planet before your pathetic kind evolved from the muck," snapped Illyria.
"I've heard that one before," said John. "It gets kinda old after a while. Can I shoot her, Elizabeth?"
"John," said Elizabeth, her voice filled with a warning. The look she gave him spoke volumes about how little she liked violence, but his eyes told her just how much he thought a bout of it would break the tension in the room.
"Can you put the gun away already?" asked Spike. He rolled his eyes. "This is getting ridiculous."
"Illyria." Wesley stood slowly. "Leave us."
"Not until this creature informs me of the contents of those books," snapped Illyria, her mouth tightening.
Spike folded over and collapsed into a crouch on the floor. He cried out, a short, sharp exclamation that had Elizabeth looking at him in alarm.
John shifted, aiming his gun at Spike. "Vampires and demons and Alterans," he said. "Oh, my. So, Elizabeth. Who do I get to shoot first? The vampire or the demon?"
"None of them," Elizabeth studied Wesley, who was staring at Spike. "Wesley. We need to talk."
"We need to bloody run!" snapped Spike. As he turned his head to glare at Elizabeth, she took a sharp breath. His eyes were a muddy yellow, his teeth had all become sharpened points, and his cranial bone structure had suddenly become more prominent. "Unless you think we stand a chance against a couple guys with tattoos on their heads being led by a bird with glowing gold eyes. We stay here, they kill us all."
"Angel gave you his visions?" asked Wesley. He pushed himself out of his chair and strode over to the wall, where he lifted an axe. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"He did not wish you to know," said Illyria.
"Visions?" asked Elizabeth. "You have a vampire prophet?"
"Not as rare as you think," muttered Spike. "My ex is one too, only she's flipping out of her gourd. Now can we go? Chickie's got special plans for Little Miss Curly Haired over there."
Elizabeth and John glanced at each other. "Do you think it's--" she started.
"If there's anyone who'd be able to find us, it's her," said John. "Let's move. Just in case these 'visions' are real."
***
They made it to the alley without any more problems than John offering to remove Spike's head after he complained - one too many times, apparently - that it was hurting. The sky was black, and the orange streetlights at each end of the alley were flickering.
At the mouth of the alley, past an overflowing dumpster, Qetesh was waiting for them, flanked by her Jaffa.
"Dr. Weir." The harsh, distorted sound of a Goa'uld's voice didn't bother Elizabeth as much as the smug tone. "You have the Alteran journals. Give them to me, and I shall consider letting your friends live."
Elizabeth didn't shift to stand behind John. He was already half in front of her, the look on his face murderous. His Beretta wasn't going to be much protection from a Goa'uld and two Jaffa. Spike was behind Elizabeth, standing off to the right, and Wesley had halted on Elizabeth's left side. He had a double-barreled shotgun leveled at the threat, but he didn't have an expression. The hollowed-out, empty expression as he stared at the Goa'uld gave Elizabeth pause.
Illyria was standing directly behind Elizabeth, and something about that made her skin crawl. Years of training was the only thing that kept Elizabeth's voice level. "You know I can't give them to you, Qetesh."
Qetesh walked toward them, her hips shifting under the green silk cocktail dress she was wearing. "Then I shall have to take them," she said.
"We can't let her have 'em," muttered Spike. "World'll end if we do."
"Tell me something I don't already know," said John. His eyes narrowed as he pulled the trigger. Qetesh's jerked backward, a spray of red blossoming out from her chest, and her First Prime dropped his staff weapon to catch her as she fell. He radioed something, and took off with the other Jaffa, carrying Qetesh slung over his shoulder.
"Let's go," snapped John, holstering his weapon. "With any luck, she won't have a sarcophagus stashed nearby."
"What does that mean?" asked Wesley. He stared toward Qetesh with a curious expression, but didn't move. The fact that his shotgun was still aimed at the Jaffa was a comfort.
"It means they may have to take her elsewhere to revive her," said Elizabeth. She turned and met Wesley's eyes. "We only have a limited amount of time before she comes back. Do you want to help us, or do you want to be where she can find you?"
"Help you what?" asked Wesley. There was pain in his eyes, but Elizabeth could see past that look. Wesley was lost. He wanted some kind of direction to move his life in. She was certain of it, just as she was certain that if she could give him that direction, she'd win his loyalty.
"Help us find the lost city of Atlantis," said Elizabeth, and something lit in Wesley's eyes. She had him.
--end--
Author: havocthecat
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Mentions of canon character death. Some violence.
Characters: Sam Carter, Cassie Fraiser, Halfrek, Illyria, Daniel Jackson, Jack O'Neill, Qetesh, John Sheppard, Spike, Teal'c, Elizabeth Weir, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce
Disclaimer: Not my characters, nor my worlds.
Fandom(s): Angel, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate: Atlantis, Stargate: SG-1
Summary: SG-1 and Cassie attend Janet's wake and set events in motion with a wish. Later, Elizabeth and John look for Ancient texts hidden away on Earth. In Los Angeles. In the Hyperion hotel, specifically.
Author's Notes: A long time ago, I started to think about how I would create the most messed-up alternate universe possible for Stargate. I never got a chance to write the rest of the au, due to the fact that I wasn't going to turn this into another 20k word fic. I think the introduction to the SG1/SGA Wishverse (free Jossverse crossover included!) can stand as a story on its own, though. This story ignores entirely the BtVS and AtS comic books, since I've never read them. Thank you to medie for plot-bouncing and beta duties. They were rather necessary in this one.
I dream of you, to wake: would that I might
Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
As, Summer ended, Summer birds take flight.
In happy dreams I hold you full in night.
I blush again who waking look so wan;
Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
Thus only in a dream we are at one,
Thus only in a dream we give and take
The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
To die were surely sweeter than to live,
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.
--Monna Innominata, by Christina Rossetti
Post-Ep, Heroes I & II
She sat in the living room and stared blankly at the wall. Everyone passed by, voices hushed, offering her sympathetic glances, but no one met her eyes. Cassie tugged her black skirt down, but it didn't reach her knees. The house was so quiet, even with so many visitors. Sam passed by, squeezing her arm and barely giving her a glance before Daniel swept her off. General Hammond nodded, offering her a plate full of vegetables, but Cassie declined.
"Hey." A stranger sat down on the sofa with her. She had dark, curly hair, and a look on her face that stopped just short of pitying. "You doing okay?"
Cassie snorted. "Right. Because today's such a cheerful kind of day." God, she'd been hanging out with Jack too much.
"I'm sorry about your mom," said the woman.
"She's not my mom," said Cassie shortly. Even if she'd been the next best thing, and even if she'd loved Janet like a mother.
"I understand you're mad," said the woman. "It's one of the stages of grief. I'm Hallie Addams. I was one of the therapists at the medical institute your mom - Dr. Fraiser - worked at."
"Look, Dr. Addams?" Cassie crossed her arms and leaned back on the sofa. "No offense, but I think I can figure out how to grieve on my own. I don't need a therapist to tell me what the stages of grief are." She didn't care how stubborn she sounded, or that Jack was nudging Sam and gesturing over in their direction.
"Yeah, I guess you know that already," said Dr. Addams.
Cassandra rolled her eyes. "You worked there. You'd know, right?" God, she hated the SGC right now, and every single goddamn person who was involved in it. She looked up and met Daniel's guilt-ridden eyes, and then they both looked away. She hated all of them.
"So if you had one thing you wish you could do over again, or that anyone could do over again, what would it be?" asked Dr. Addams.
"That's a stupid question," said Cassie flatly. She snuck a look back up at Daniel. He was staring at Dr. Addams, his forehead wrinkled slightly in thought.
"No, seriously, think of this as an exercise in what-ifs," said Dr. Addams. "If you could wish yourself into any alternate universe, what universe would you wish yourself into?"
"Cassie, I don't think this is such a good--" started Daniel.
"What do you know?" snapped Cassie. "You got Mom killed." That wasn't fair, and she knew it, but damn it, they'd buried Janet today. Cassie covered her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she choked back first one sob, and then another. Jack was standing behind Daniel, Sam just behind Jack, and they were all just standing there, none of them knowing what to do.
Dr. Addams handed her a tissue, her eyes full of understanding, as Teal'c sat down next to her. "I am sorry, Cassandra," he said, his eyes as compassionate as they had been the first time she'd met him, on Hanka. When she'd been a living bomb, and no one had known it, but Teal'c had figured it out, and he'd saved her life as much as Janet or Sam had. Teal'c opened his arms, and Cassie clung to him, trying not to sob into his shirt and ignoring the stupid hat on his head.
"I miss her," muttered Cassie, swiping at her eyes with one hand.
"We all miss Dr. Fraiser. We will never be able to say how much." Teal'c's voice was soft and low, the kind of tone he'd use to sing a lullaby to a baby. Sometimes Cassie wished she was a baby again, or still on Hanka and that Nirrti had never come to kill them all.
"It's okay to grieve," said Dr. Addams, leaning forward and putting one hand lightly on Cassie's back. "Make a wish and pretend it'll get better."
"Uh, no wishing," said Daniel, one finger in the air. He pointed at Dr. Addams. "Just a minute, I'll remember where I heard that before--"
Cassie wrenched herself upright, shaking off Dr. Addams' hand and scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her face. "I know it's okay to grieve!" She stood up, backing up, as the entire crowd in the living room turned to face her. God, Janet had known a lot of people. "I lost one mother already, Daniel. I just wish that Janet didn't have to die too!"
Dr. Addams laughed, and her face had changed. It was shot through with veins. The first thing Cassie thought was alien, and the second was, she's not a Goa'uld.
Jack shouted, and Cassie saw him rushing forward, pulling a gun from his leather jacket. Teal'c stood and loomed over Dr. Addams, who laughed at him. "Granted!" she said, standing up and flourishing her arms, a wide smile on her face.
Everything vanished as Cassie was caught up in an onrushing wave of darkness.
***
Two Years Later
"Here we are." Elizabeth stepped out of the car, closing it behind her and pocketing the keys. The wind blowing down the empty street blew her hair into her face, and she brushed it back with an impatient frown.
"You're sure this guy will talk to us?" John got out of the car and squinted up at the faded, dimly lit sign. "The Hyperion, huh?"
"It was quite the place once upon a time," said Elizabeth. She leaned on the hood of the car and smirked over at John. "It had a reputation for assignations."
"Think we can get a room for an assignation of our own?" asked John, leaning on the hood and grinning.
"We're going to have to share," said Elizabeth, straightening and coming around the car. "The government's not going to foot the bill for our trip, you know that."
"I thought you had money," said John, falling into step next to her.
"I did. I don't have as much of it now." Elizabeth paused, her hand resting on the door handle. Her other hand brushed against cracked paint. "Are you ready for this? Some of the information we've uncovered about this hotel and its history--"
"I'm ready," said John firmly. "You're the civilian here."
"I'm a civilian who is perfectly capable of taking care of herself," said Elizabeth primly. "After everything we've gone through, do you still think you have to coddle me?"
"Not really," said John, slouching against the door. "I just like to." He jerked his head at the door. "Come on, let's go."
They opened the door and stepped inside. The lobby was covered with a thin layer of dust, small puffs of it rising up as Elizabeth and John walked. A man with bleached, gelled hair wearing worn jeans and a faded black t-shirt was leaning the front desk, staring down at a video game controller held in his hands. "We're not open," he said, his British accent short and clipped. He didn't look up, and the game beeped as he pressed buttons almost too fast for the game to keep up.
"Do you hear that honey?" drawled John, turning to Elizabeth. She looked up curiously. "There's no room at the inn. Does this mean you'll have to have your baby in the stables?"
Elizabeth raised one eyebrow at John as the man's head whipped up. "You're not pregnant," he said, glaring at Elizabeth's stomach, "and we don't have any stables."
"We've got a guy with a real flair for the obvious here," said John, jerking his thumb at the man.
"John's got a rather unique sense of humor," said Elizabeth, walking forward. "Are you Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?" He was British, after all, though her file said that her contact had attended Oxford. This man had certainly not got the accent she was expecting.
The man's face set. "He's not here."
"That's kinda funny," said John tightly, "because we know he's expecting us."
"Sucks to be you, then." The man's lip curled at them as he nodded at the door. "Don't come back."
"Maybe he doesn't tell you everything," said John, crossing his arms.
"Leave." The man planted one black-nailed hand on the counter and shifted his weight. Elizabeth wondered if he was going to leap over the counter at them.
It was easy to miss the subtle tension that started to thrum through John, but Elizabeth had been working with him for too long. "You didn't say please."
"John." Elizabeth laid her hand on his arm. "Let's just call him."
"No need." The cultured accent was more of what she'd been expecting. Elizabeth glanced over to see a pale man, chin covered in stubble, wearing khakis and a well-worn oxford button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. This was Wesley, then. "Dr. Weir. Major Sheppard."
"You didn't say--" started the man.
"It's personal business, Spike," said Wesley sharply. "Nothing to do with Angel Investigations."
"Not that Angel is here to do a bloody thing with Angel Investigations in the first place," muttered Spike. "Idiot that he is. You up for this?"
"It's a simple transaction." Wesley's gaze hadn't left Elizabeth's. "Do you have it?"
Elizabeth nodded once. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see John looking lazily at Spike. John's smile was easy, but Elizabeth had seen him like this before. He was ready for things to go dangerously awry.
In their line of work, things often went dangerously awry.
"Then I have your books." Wesley turned, stepped back into the room he'd come from, then paused. "They're in here."
***
Elizabeth looked up, her hand going back to rub at her sore neck. Wesley was staring at her curiously. "Something?" she asked. John was sprawled on a chair in the corner and watching them both.
"I haven't been able to come up with a translation for any of those books," he said, tapping the stack on the table in front of Elizabeth. "Yet you're fluent enough to be able to read them without any sort of reference material. You also have the Eye of Ra. No one's seen that in decades. Its last known owner was Dr. Catherine Langford." His voice was thoughtful and slow.
"I can't reveal where I received my information," said Elizabeth. She knew her voice was more tired than she wanted, but this was the part that wore on her. If Wesley got too inquisitive, they'd have to deal with the problem. "I said that on the phone."
"Yes, I recall that quite clearly," said Wesley. "I'm simply expressing curiosity."
"You'll have to find a way to live without finding out," said John. He was trying to balance a pencil on his fingertip.
"Hey, Wes!" A tall, lanky brunette bounced into Wesley's office. She beamed at John and Elizabeth and leaned against the door, rocking back and forth slightly. "We got clients? I've been kinda bored lately."
"No clients, Fred," said Wesley. "It's a personal matter."
"Personal and confidential," said John, looking from Wesley to Fred with dark eyes. "I thought we were going to be able to keep this visit quiet."
"Fred's not going to let anyone know you're here," said Wesley. He leaned toward her. "Are you, Fred?"
"Of course not, silly!" She made a waving motion with one hand as she walked easily into the room. Elizabeth moved the books carefully away as Fred hopped lightly onto the table, sitting on it and kicking her legs. "What books do you have? Wes doesn't let many people touch his books. I can't even get a look at them any more."
"You're not a person," said Wesley, his voice suddenly dark.
"Not a person?" John's voice was casual, but he was straightening up. "That's funny. Some of my best enemies aren't really people either."
"Some of them are," added Elizabeth.
"You just say that because Kinsey's so charming," said John, reaching into his jacket. "You know he wants you at his beck and call."
"Kinsey? Are you talking about President Kinsey?" asked Wesley. "What are you people involved in?"
Fred was looking down at the books strewn in front of Elizabeth. "Why do you have the books of the Alterans?" Her voice was stronger now, with no hint of the Texas accent from before. She was staring at Elizabeth with imperious eyes that had suddenly become an unnatural blue. "None of the pathetic mortals that now inhabit this planet can read this language."
John was on his feet, firearm drawn and pointed at Fred. "This is why we wanted to keep our business private," he said. "Think she's a snake, Elizabeth?"
"Your mortal weapons cannot harm me," snapped Fred.
John grinned unpleasantly. "Heard that one before."
"Illyria!" snapped Wesley. "You know what these books are?"
Fred - no, Illyria - jerked as she whirled to look at Wesley. Her brown hair was shot through with waves of blue, and her arms were covered in mottled blue skin. "Do not presume to give me orders because I tolerate your existence."
"Wesley, I think we need to speak privately," said Elizabeth, standing slowly. She leaned forward, open palms braced on the table. "Obviously, there are things we need to discuss."
"Are those the books we came for, Elizabeth?" asked John.
Elizabeth nodded. "They are." They books were old, but well-preserved. Far too well-preserved for their age. That alone spoke to their Ancient origin.
"Then get them, and let's get out of here," he said tightly. "Before this situation deteriorates."
"Bit late for that." Spike stood, arms crossed, in the doorway. "No one's leaving until I bloody know what brought Smurfette out to play."
"I hate alpha male types," muttered Elizabeth. She especially hated dealing with alpha male types she couldn't influence. She started to stack the books and slip them into a satchel she'd brought along.
"What about me?" asked John. He grinned, but his aim at Illyria didn't waver.
"Don't get me started on you," said Elizabeth, looking at him and arching her eyebrow. She zipped the satchel closed and slung it over her shoulder.
"Oh, please. Start. About time someone around here besides me took a tongue-lashing." Spike shrugged. "What do you people want?"
"You are not Alterans," stated Illyria. "That much is clear."
"Might be easier if we were," said John. Elizabeth had often thought it would be much easier if they were.
"The Alterans are barely mentioned in the earliest demonic histories," said Wesley. He reached for Elizabeth's satchel. "These are Alteran texts?"
"Demonic?" asked Elizabeth, whirling away from Wesley and backing up to stand next to John. She slung the satchel across her chest and held the strap tightly. "What do you mean 'the Alterans are barely mentioned--'"
"What the hell?" asked John. "We're not talking demonic, we're talking--"
"We're talking things you don't have the clearance to know," said Elizabeth. "None of you."
"The government doesn't take any interest in pesky things like demons," said Spike. "Not since the Initiative was shut down."
Elizabeth shot him a sharp glance. "You know about the Initiative project?" She'd only read the files after it was closed down.
"Elizabeth, I don't know about the Initiative project," said John. He grimaced. "I hate when things I don't know about affect a mission."
Spike rubbed the base of his skull. "I was a subject of the damn Initiative project."
"Is that so?" Elizabeth met Spike's tired gaze. He didn't seem dangerous, but of everything Elizabeth had encountered, the most innocuous-looking were always the dangerous ones. "What kind of demon does that make you?"
After a few seconds, Spike glanced away from Elizabeth. "Vampire," he muttered.
"And you?" asked Elizabeth, turning to Illyria. She clearly wasn't human, nor was she any kind of alien that Elizabeth had ever seen.
"I was the god-king of this planet before your pathetic kind evolved from the muck," snapped Illyria.
"I've heard that one before," said John. "It gets kinda old after a while. Can I shoot her, Elizabeth?"
"John," said Elizabeth, her voice filled with a warning. The look she gave him spoke volumes about how little she liked violence, but his eyes told her just how much he thought a bout of it would break the tension in the room.
"Can you put the gun away already?" asked Spike. He rolled his eyes. "This is getting ridiculous."
"Illyria." Wesley stood slowly. "Leave us."
"Not until this creature informs me of the contents of those books," snapped Illyria, her mouth tightening.
Spike folded over and collapsed into a crouch on the floor. He cried out, a short, sharp exclamation that had Elizabeth looking at him in alarm.
John shifted, aiming his gun at Spike. "Vampires and demons and Alterans," he said. "Oh, my. So, Elizabeth. Who do I get to shoot first? The vampire or the demon?"
"None of them," Elizabeth studied Wesley, who was staring at Spike. "Wesley. We need to talk."
"We need to bloody run!" snapped Spike. As he turned his head to glare at Elizabeth, she took a sharp breath. His eyes were a muddy yellow, his teeth had all become sharpened points, and his cranial bone structure had suddenly become more prominent. "Unless you think we stand a chance against a couple guys with tattoos on their heads being led by a bird with glowing gold eyes. We stay here, they kill us all."
"Angel gave you his visions?" asked Wesley. He pushed himself out of his chair and strode over to the wall, where he lifted an axe. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"He did not wish you to know," said Illyria.
"Visions?" asked Elizabeth. "You have a vampire prophet?"
"Not as rare as you think," muttered Spike. "My ex is one too, only she's flipping out of her gourd. Now can we go? Chickie's got special plans for Little Miss Curly Haired over there."
Elizabeth and John glanced at each other. "Do you think it's--" she started.
"If there's anyone who'd be able to find us, it's her," said John. "Let's move. Just in case these 'visions' are real."
***
They made it to the alley without any more problems than John offering to remove Spike's head after he complained - one too many times, apparently - that it was hurting. The sky was black, and the orange streetlights at each end of the alley were flickering.
At the mouth of the alley, past an overflowing dumpster, Qetesh was waiting for them, flanked by her Jaffa.
"Dr. Weir." The harsh, distorted sound of a Goa'uld's voice didn't bother Elizabeth as much as the smug tone. "You have the Alteran journals. Give them to me, and I shall consider letting your friends live."
Elizabeth didn't shift to stand behind John. He was already half in front of her, the look on his face murderous. His Beretta wasn't going to be much protection from a Goa'uld and two Jaffa. Spike was behind Elizabeth, standing off to the right, and Wesley had halted on Elizabeth's left side. He had a double-barreled shotgun leveled at the threat, but he didn't have an expression. The hollowed-out, empty expression as he stared at the Goa'uld gave Elizabeth pause.
Illyria was standing directly behind Elizabeth, and something about that made her skin crawl. Years of training was the only thing that kept Elizabeth's voice level. "You know I can't give them to you, Qetesh."
Qetesh walked toward them, her hips shifting under the green silk cocktail dress she was wearing. "Then I shall have to take them," she said.
"We can't let her have 'em," muttered Spike. "World'll end if we do."
"Tell me something I don't already know," said John. His eyes narrowed as he pulled the trigger. Qetesh's jerked backward, a spray of red blossoming out from her chest, and her First Prime dropped his staff weapon to catch her as she fell. He radioed something, and took off with the other Jaffa, carrying Qetesh slung over his shoulder.
"Let's go," snapped John, holstering his weapon. "With any luck, she won't have a sarcophagus stashed nearby."
"What does that mean?" asked Wesley. He stared toward Qetesh with a curious expression, but didn't move. The fact that his shotgun was still aimed at the Jaffa was a comfort.
"It means they may have to take her elsewhere to revive her," said Elizabeth. She turned and met Wesley's eyes. "We only have a limited amount of time before she comes back. Do you want to help us, or do you want to be where she can find you?"
"Help you what?" asked Wesley. There was pain in his eyes, but Elizabeth could see past that look. Wesley was lost. He wanted some kind of direction to move his life in. She was certain of it, just as she was certain that if she could give him that direction, she'd win his loyalty.
"Help us find the lost city of Atlantis," said Elizabeth, and something lit in Wesley's eyes. She had him.
--end--