29 Aug 22 - Are These Goons Yours, Mine or Ours?
Title: Are These Goons Yours, Mine or Ours?
Author: Beriaearwen
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Stargate: SG1
Rating: Suitable for people over 13
Word Count: 1429
Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Mutant Enemy, etc. The characters of _ belong to _, etc. All are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Note: Part of this series (put in chronological order rather than written order): The Start, The Reveal , The First Test, and Somewhere In The Middle (Maybe, But Probably Not). This would come after “The First Test” and before “Somewhere In The Middle (Maybe, But Probably Not)".
Summary: Buffy and Jon go to Washington DC for a meeting. What could go wrong?
Are These Goons Yours, Mine or Ours?
By Beriaearwen
Buffy grumbled lightly as she worked on the lock holding the manacle around her left wrist. The stupid idiots who grabbed her and Jon made the same mistake most of them did. They focused on the fact Slayers were strong and forgot that they were also humans and intelligent. Of course, intelligence wasn’t something the old Watchers had ever encouraged, and Buffy had taken great pains to hide through her early years.
“Ha!” she said as the lock released. She then started the lightly longer process of freeing her right hand. She’d always been slightly ambidextrous, which had been handy in ice skating and cheerleading, but had saved her life more than once in Slaying. Still, doing fiddly things like picking a lock with a couple hair pins one-handed with your non-dominant hand wasn’t as easy as it looked in movies.
As she worked on the lock, she reviewed what she knew of her situation.
They had been requested in D. C. and had decided to come over a few days early since it was spring, and the cherry trees were in bloom. It was their normal contact and they had confirmed that the meeting was legitimate.
They had been assured that if they provided their arrival time a car and driver would be waiting for them. That was fine. Jon didn’t like driving in D. C. and someone, or more than one someone, had very strongly advised against letting Buffy behind the wheel to the point there wasn’t a single government anywhere that let her drive herself.
She huffed at that thought, still offended by that analysis. Just because cars, on rare occasions in life-or-death situations, didn’t respond quite as quickly as they should was hardly her fault. And no matter what Dawn said, that run to Neiman Marcus on Black Friday was absolutely a life-or-death situation.
But, that wasn’t her current concern. She and Jon had gotten off the plane and found someone waiting for them, with the usual sign. They approached, got their luggage from the carousel, put it in the trunk and got into the back of the Town Car.
It wasn’t the first time there had been a divider between the front and the back, but it was still unusual enough to note.
As was the moment the driver hit a button and put on a gas mask while something started rapidly filling the back of the car. Buffy had only had time to realize that before passing out.
When she had woken up, she’d been in the recovery position on a cot, manacles around her hands and ankles. It wasn’t normal steel either, these didn’t pull apart even using all her strength, and she did have all her strength, so they hadn’t found a way to take it.
She had no idea what they were doing with Jon or where he was, but she really hoped he was unharmed.
“There,” she whispered, finally getting the other cuff undone. With two hands, the manacles around her ankles fell off more quickly.
Looking at the door to her room, she blinked, then blinked again and shook her head in disappointment at what she saw.
Sure, they’d removed the handle from the inside of the door and there was most likely some sort of electronic lock on the outside to match the keypad on the inside. But they had left the hinges of the door exposed on her side of it.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she rolled the mattress of the cot back and found the flat metal bars that provided the support for it. She unhooked it from the springs on either side and shook her head again. Exactly how stupid did they think she was? Of course, if they had guns… It didn’t take brains to use a gun, she thought grimly, thinking of Tara.
Stepping forward, she used the thin strip of metal to pry the pin out of the hing on top and then did the same for the one on the bottom. With a little finagling, she got the hinge side of the door open enough for her to slip out. The door itself might be slightly bent since it was, apparently, a really good lock, but at least it hadn’t made much noise.
There was no one in the hall and she counted her lucky stars that the camera was placed at an intersection and seemed to rotate down two different halls. It was currently facing the other hall.
She stilled and closed her eyes, focusing on her hearing to see if she could hear anyone in the other corridor. She couldn’t.
Seeing that the camera was about to turn to look down her corridor, she put on a little burst of Slayer speed and got underneath the camera, waiting for it to face her corridor and then jamming the part that rotated.
Her hearing had revealed the sound of her boyfriend muttering to himself.
Cautiously and quietly, she moved down the hall until she came to the cell where she could hear Jon complaining.
Her lips quirked as she took in what he was saying and shook her head.
Looking at the door, his just had a regular deadbolt on it and the hinges appeared to be on the inside again. Easy enough.
Centering herself, she took a deep breath and then let loose a powerful, solid kick at the lock, which also managed to bend the door slightly as it collapsed inward.
John was sitting on the side of his cot with one of the springs in the lock of his handcuffs. “Oh, thank God,” he greeted. “Could you?”
“Of course,” she said, pulling out her hairpins and quickly loosing the cuffs.
“Any idea where we are?” he asked as they moved toward the door.
Buffy shrugged. “No idea. I’ve seen my cell, the hall and your cell.”
“Well, let’s see if we can find some directions,” Jon suggested, moving away from the camera and down the corridor, Buffy following.
Fifteen minutes later, Buffy and Jon were ducked behind a metal desk as bullets flew around and above them.
“Who, even, are they shooting at?” She demanded.
“I think them,” Jon replied pointing in the opposite direction of where Buffy had been looking.
“Great. We get kidnapped by one group who is now trying to kill us as they get invaded by another group trying to kill them?” she asked in disbelief. “These have got to be your people,” she insisted. “Your MIB factions fighting it out for us.”
“NID,” he corrected through gritted teeth. “And why do they have to be related to my side of things. The Initiative wasn’t shy about using guns.”
“Maybe,” Buffy agreed, pulling her head back as another round of gunfire started. “But Riley and Sam are in charge now, so it’s unlikely. I think if we head that way and stay along the wall we can get to the windows in the next room,” she directed.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jon agreed, thankful for his non-achy knees.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
“And that’s why we were late for dinner tonight, Mr. President. Again, our apologies,” Jon finished from where he and Buffy stood, having arrived late for the dinner they had been invited to in the private wing of the White House.
“Seems to be as good an excuse as any,” the President offered, a slightly stunned look on his face.
A discreet cough from a man in the doorway drew their attention. The head of the President’s security detail was standing there.
“Yes, Roberts?” the President asked.
“When you described the firefight, I had one of my people do some research. The firefight was reported just where you mentioned. It was determined to be between two unrelated groups. Apparently, the group that grabbed you at the airport thought you were family to the leader of a drug cartel they were trying to extort, and the other group thought that the group who took you was with organized crime and thought the group who took you was one that had cheated them out of millions.”
“So, it had nothing to do with us at all?” Buffy asked, trying to process that information.
“Just bad timing apparently,” Roberts confirmed.
“Well,” the President said after several moments of silence, clapping his hands together. “Why don’t we get on with dinner. I’m sure you’re both famished after all that excitement.”
“Yes, sir,” Jon agreed, guiding Buffy to her seat, shaking his head slightly at the absurdity which was his life.
End
Author: Beriaearwen
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Stargate: SG1
Rating: Suitable for people over 13
Word Count: 1429
Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Mutant Enemy, etc. The characters of _ belong to _, etc. All are used here without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Note: Part of this series (put in chronological order rather than written order): The Start, The Reveal , The First Test, and Somewhere In The Middle (Maybe, But Probably Not). This would come after “The First Test” and before “Somewhere In The Middle (Maybe, But Probably Not)".
Summary: Buffy and Jon go to Washington DC for a meeting. What could go wrong?
Are These Goons Yours, Mine or Ours?
By Beriaearwen
Buffy grumbled lightly as she worked on the lock holding the manacle around her left wrist. The stupid idiots who grabbed her and Jon made the same mistake most of them did. They focused on the fact Slayers were strong and forgot that they were also humans and intelligent. Of course, intelligence wasn’t something the old Watchers had ever encouraged, and Buffy had taken great pains to hide through her early years.
“Ha!” she said as the lock released. She then started the lightly longer process of freeing her right hand. She’d always been slightly ambidextrous, which had been handy in ice skating and cheerleading, but had saved her life more than once in Slaying. Still, doing fiddly things like picking a lock with a couple hair pins one-handed with your non-dominant hand wasn’t as easy as it looked in movies.
As she worked on the lock, she reviewed what she knew of her situation.
They had been requested in D. C. and had decided to come over a few days early since it was spring, and the cherry trees were in bloom. It was their normal contact and they had confirmed that the meeting was legitimate.
They had been assured that if they provided their arrival time a car and driver would be waiting for them. That was fine. Jon didn’t like driving in D. C. and someone, or more than one someone, had very strongly advised against letting Buffy behind the wheel to the point there wasn’t a single government anywhere that let her drive herself.
She huffed at that thought, still offended by that analysis. Just because cars, on rare occasions in life-or-death situations, didn’t respond quite as quickly as they should was hardly her fault. And no matter what Dawn said, that run to Neiman Marcus on Black Friday was absolutely a life-or-death situation.
But, that wasn’t her current concern. She and Jon had gotten off the plane and found someone waiting for them, with the usual sign. They approached, got their luggage from the carousel, put it in the trunk and got into the back of the Town Car.
It wasn’t the first time there had been a divider between the front and the back, but it was still unusual enough to note.
As was the moment the driver hit a button and put on a gas mask while something started rapidly filling the back of the car. Buffy had only had time to realize that before passing out.
When she had woken up, she’d been in the recovery position on a cot, manacles around her hands and ankles. It wasn’t normal steel either, these didn’t pull apart even using all her strength, and she did have all her strength, so they hadn’t found a way to take it.
She had no idea what they were doing with Jon or where he was, but she really hoped he was unharmed.
“There,” she whispered, finally getting the other cuff undone. With two hands, the manacles around her ankles fell off more quickly.
Looking at the door to her room, she blinked, then blinked again and shook her head in disappointment at what she saw.
Sure, they’d removed the handle from the inside of the door and there was most likely some sort of electronic lock on the outside to match the keypad on the inside. But they had left the hinges of the door exposed on her side of it.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she rolled the mattress of the cot back and found the flat metal bars that provided the support for it. She unhooked it from the springs on either side and shook her head again. Exactly how stupid did they think she was? Of course, if they had guns… It didn’t take brains to use a gun, she thought grimly, thinking of Tara.
Stepping forward, she used the thin strip of metal to pry the pin out of the hing on top and then did the same for the one on the bottom. With a little finagling, she got the hinge side of the door open enough for her to slip out. The door itself might be slightly bent since it was, apparently, a really good lock, but at least it hadn’t made much noise.
There was no one in the hall and she counted her lucky stars that the camera was placed at an intersection and seemed to rotate down two different halls. It was currently facing the other hall.
She stilled and closed her eyes, focusing on her hearing to see if she could hear anyone in the other corridor. She couldn’t.
Seeing that the camera was about to turn to look down her corridor, she put on a little burst of Slayer speed and got underneath the camera, waiting for it to face her corridor and then jamming the part that rotated.
Her hearing had revealed the sound of her boyfriend muttering to himself.
Cautiously and quietly, she moved down the hall until she came to the cell where she could hear Jon complaining.
Her lips quirked as she took in what he was saying and shook her head.
Looking at the door, his just had a regular deadbolt on it and the hinges appeared to be on the inside again. Easy enough.
Centering herself, she took a deep breath and then let loose a powerful, solid kick at the lock, which also managed to bend the door slightly as it collapsed inward.
John was sitting on the side of his cot with one of the springs in the lock of his handcuffs. “Oh, thank God,” he greeted. “Could you?”
“Of course,” she said, pulling out her hairpins and quickly loosing the cuffs.
“Any idea where we are?” he asked as they moved toward the door.
Buffy shrugged. “No idea. I’ve seen my cell, the hall and your cell.”
“Well, let’s see if we can find some directions,” Jon suggested, moving away from the camera and down the corridor, Buffy following.
Fifteen minutes later, Buffy and Jon were ducked behind a metal desk as bullets flew around and above them.
“Who, even, are they shooting at?” She demanded.
“I think them,” Jon replied pointing in the opposite direction of where Buffy had been looking.
“Great. We get kidnapped by one group who is now trying to kill us as they get invaded by another group trying to kill them?” she asked in disbelief. “These have got to be your people,” she insisted. “Your MIB factions fighting it out for us.”
“NID,” he corrected through gritted teeth. “And why do they have to be related to my side of things. The Initiative wasn’t shy about using guns.”
“Maybe,” Buffy agreed, pulling her head back as another round of gunfire started. “But Riley and Sam are in charge now, so it’s unlikely. I think if we head that way and stay along the wall we can get to the windows in the next room,” she directed.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jon agreed, thankful for his non-achy knees.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
“And that’s why we were late for dinner tonight, Mr. President. Again, our apologies,” Jon finished from where he and Buffy stood, having arrived late for the dinner they had been invited to in the private wing of the White House.
“Seems to be as good an excuse as any,” the President offered, a slightly stunned look on his face.
A discreet cough from a man in the doorway drew their attention. The head of the President’s security detail was standing there.
“Yes, Roberts?” the President asked.
“When you described the firefight, I had one of my people do some research. The firefight was reported just where you mentioned. It was determined to be between two unrelated groups. Apparently, the group that grabbed you at the airport thought you were family to the leader of a drug cartel they were trying to extort, and the other group thought that the group who took you was with organized crime and thought the group who took you was one that had cheated them out of millions.”
“So, it had nothing to do with us at all?” Buffy asked, trying to process that information.
“Just bad timing apparently,” Roberts confirmed.
“Well,” the President said after several moments of silence, clapping his hands together. “Why don’t we get on with dinner. I’m sure you’re both famished after all that excitement.”
“Yes, sir,” Jon agreed, guiding Buffy to her seat, shaking his head slightly at the absurdity which was his life.
End