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jedibuttercupT/gen; B:tVS/SGA; 1800 words. Part of the Uncle John series. For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
twistedshorts.
Buffy adjusts to Atlantis. It doesn't go smoothly. But then, what in her life ever has?
Title: The One Girl in All the Galaxy
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: T/PG-13; gen
Spoilers: Post-series for B:tVS; no comics; mid-Season 2 divergence for SGA
Notes: Closing out this year's August Buffy Crossover Ficathon by revisiting another of my very old series spawned by this challenge, for nostalgia's sake. Thanks, everyone, for your patience-- and your comments and kudos-- over the last few weeks!
Buffy adjusts to Atlantis. It doesn't go smoothly. But then, what in her life ever has?
Buffy hadn't been on Atlantis all that long. Maybe about as long as it had taken to get there from Earth in the first place, and she was still struggling to adjust her mental world view to the fact that this wasn't just beachfront California with very, very nouveaux architecture. Everything was cool soaring blues, sea greens, and steel grays, like an overgrown aquarium complex filled with busy people and mission directives straight out of science fiction.
She hadn't even been allowed to slay anything yet; there was an intake process Buffy and her sister were supposed to complete before going offworld, since they hadn't gone through the usual introduction to the Stargate program. Dawn, though, being much higher on the boffin scale and already speaking enough Ancient to decipher basic code, had instantly been adopted by their Uncle John's best friend's minions; she started each day in a babble of excitement and ended it the same way. Leaving Buffy... without much of anything in the way of responsibilities, for the first time she was fifteen years old.
It had been enough time for her to learn the rhythm of the city, though: the orderly changeover of shifts, the way the men bantered to each other as they came and went from missions or explorations in the city that didn't happen to involve a Foe of the Week, and which days the mess hall cook who brewed the best coffee was in charge of the pots. (She'd been informed the supply of beans would run out before the Daedalus made it to Earth and back again, but had decided that was a panic best had another day). The quiet tension that built up after her Uncle's team went out on a search for another magical McGuffin was definitely outside the normal pattern of things.
She checked on her sister-- chatting away with Dr. McKay's long-suffering science deputy, learning yet another language by the sound of things-- then found an excuse to haunt the control room. The Canadian guy who did the gate-dialing thing was somewhere on her familiarization schedule, something about chevrons and irises and IDCs that probably didn't have anything to do with gasoline or flowerbeds and didn't stand for "I Don't Care", so she figured why not bump it up a little?
Uncle John's boss side-eyed her a little at first; but Buffy put on her best blonde expression and asked Chuck all the friendly, not quite flirtatious questions she could think of. By the time Uncle John's second-in-command dialed in-- a Major Lorne, who was seriously all the best features of Riley in uniform only even hotter, though alas, completely off limits to his boss's niece-- Dr. Weir had totally forgotten she was there, and marched up to him and his team without once looking her way.
That was definitely not the way Buffy would have preferred to find out her uncle was missing.
It wasn't the way she'd have preferred to introduce the Slayer to her uncle's boss, either, but, well; beggars couldn't be choosers.
"Look," she said, after the guys headed to the Pegasus equivalent of the locker room for a pit stop before turning and heading back out. "General O'Neill sent me to this galaxy for a reason. I know I'm not up on every little detail of handsigns or who says what on the radio or what all the gate addresses of our allies are, yet. But this kind of emergency is what I'm for, and if you let me go, I'll be with Major Lorne's team the whole time."
Dr. Weir narrowed her eyes a little, a very teachery expression that gave Buffy unexpected flashbacks to Jenny Calendar, and crossed her arms over her burgundy shirt. (Very important, the distinction between burgundy and red, as Uncle John had made sure to inform Dawn the first time she cracked a Star Trek joke). "Forgive me, but I thought the reason you were here was to keep you safe from unsavory elements within the political structure. You were sent here as a VIP, not security personnel."
Yeah, a VIP whose arrival had delayed the Daedalus long enough that by the time they went back out to the mission they'd been scheduled to do beforehand-- investigating an Ancient ship called the Aurora that had recently popped up on the city's long-range sensors-- the Wraith had managed to find the target first and jack one of their scouts into the Aurora's stasis systems. Luckily, Colonel Caldwell's crew methodically checked the ship over before doing anything risky and discovered and neutralized the Wraith before it could report whatever it had found in there. Unluckily, that had prevented them from finding any information themselves; by that time, two Wraith cruisers had shown up to investigate the disturbance, and a stray shot during the ensuing battle knocked the remaining computers and the stasis system offline. Whatever the sleeping crew had known died with them, and the wrecked ship would be weeks reaching Atlantis even with the Daedalus providing a tow. Buffy had got the impression that some people in the city were holding that unfortunate circumstance against anyone Sheppard-adjacent.
She reminded herself that nobody there really knew her yet, and drew a calming breath. "But the reason I'm a VIP is because I'm what you call a 'hoktaur'. I don't turn into a giant glowy jellyfish, or move things with my brain, or do crazy science. But I'm at least as strong as a Wraith, and I have perfect aim with every weapon your people have tested me on. This is what I'm good at. So let me prove it."
Dr. Weir shook her head slowly, though there was more speculation than outright forbidding in her expression. "The colonel would never forgive me if I let you go off-world underprepared."
Buffy stiffened her posture, crossing her own arms to echo Dr. Weir's pose. "Well, 'the colonel' isn't my employer; and I've been an adult for longer than he's even been in my life. Paperwork isn't my strong suit. Saving people is."
"Some might say it would be a conflict of interest," Dr. Weir mused, further.
"Some might say it's a conflict of interest to even let the head of the military off-Atlantis to begin with, let alone so often," Buffy countered. She should know, having followed her own trajectory from a pawn considered valuable but expendable by an overarching organization, to one of the commanding pieces on the board. And all of the expectations that came with it. It wasn't just Spike's final death as part of Angel's crusade that had sent her 'walkabout' for awhile, as Dawn put it.
"Hmmm." Dr. Weir considered a moment longer, then shook her head. "My answer's still no. Though before you attempt to argue any further--" she held up an admonishing finger, "--that's a not now, not a never. You're still not cleared for off-world activity. So while Major Lorne's team investigates, I suggest you fill in a few more of those gaps. Try to learn to trust us, at least enough to do our jobs. And if and when actionable information is uncovered...."
Buffy knew the best deal she was going to be offered when she heard it. Had she really been that obvious about holding back? She sighed, then reluctantly nodded. "Then I get to do mine?"
Dr. Weir's smile turned wryly sympathetic, and she inclined her head. "We have a deal."
Of course, all the clues Lorne's team uncovered ended up being not of the helpful, with the end result that Buffy spent the next few days on tenterhooks, cramming the rest of the introductory material she'd been dragging her feet on and spectating as Dr. Zelenka swore in Czech about the unhelpfulness of DHDs' memory systems and started her sister on crystal based tech.
Buffy had spent the last several weeks-- months, really, since Dr. McKay's long ago fishing email-- in a state of ambivalence, wary of putting herself in the hands of any seemingly-benevolent organization that might use her as leverage against her family. Or her family against her. But all that her waiting had got her was a lost Uncle anyway, and no way to get to him.
She did trust his team: the friends she'd met through his letters, before she ever exchanged funny stories with them over dinner. Was it really that much different to start putting a little trust in the city he trusted, too?
She thought about it, sitting out on a balcony with her tablet, then closed her eyes and leaned back against the sunwarmed wall behind her. The blood tests had shown Ancient genetics almost as strong as her uncle's, though Dawn beat them both out; some quirk of how the monks created her. Buffy knew she could talk to the city, if she wanted. But she'd been as cautious with that connection as she had been about the IOA; given the creepy associations from Sunnydale-- demon aspect telepathy, demons possessing the internet, and tech oriented villains, oh my-- she'd been a little wary of the hovering sense of other pressing against the fringes of her mind.
But she'd had time to adjust now, and like she'd told Dr. Weir, there was a reason she was on Atlantis. So maybe the city wasn't any more perfect than Sunnydale had been, despite its shiny exterior. So maybe General O'Neill and company had dangerous secrets and dubiously intentioned superiors and she would have to pull the emergency ripcord, some day. So what? Life was hard, and then you died; and at least out here, she wasn't the only one racking up the frequent return-flyer miles.
"Hey there, Atlantis," she said, tentatively reaching out the way Willow had taught her to do.
Something reached back-- and for a long, dazzling moment she was the city, the giant metal snowflake floating on the ocean she'd seen from orbit. Warm sunlight on her hull, rocked gently by the waves, small points of light and energy livening her so-long-abandoned walls, giving her purpose again--
She caught her breath and was Buffy, once more aching with her own purpose.
"I don't suppose you can help us find my uncle?" she murmured, pressing her hands flat against the balcony floor. "Didn't your first people have any way of star sixty-nining a DHD?"
Apparently, no one had quite put it that way to Atlantis, before. A wash of mental associations resonated off something in its database, and Buffy experienced a sudden, burning urge to visit one particular station in Dr. Zelenka's lab. Something about vigesimal timestamp indices? She climbed to her feet in a rush and tapped the radio tucked behind her ear.
"So, Dr. Weir, about that actionable intelligence...."
Ready or not, Pegasus Galaxy: here she came.
(x-posted on twistedshorts and on AO3)
twistedshorts.Buffy adjusts to Atlantis. It doesn't go smoothly. But then, what in her life ever has?
Title: The One Girl in All the Galaxy
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: T/PG-13; gen
Spoilers: Post-series for B:tVS; no comics; mid-Season 2 divergence for SGA
Notes: Closing out this year's August Buffy Crossover Ficathon by revisiting another of my very old series spawned by this challenge, for nostalgia's sake. Thanks, everyone, for your patience-- and your comments and kudos-- over the last few weeks!
Buffy adjusts to Atlantis. It doesn't go smoothly. But then, what in her life ever has?
Buffy hadn't been on Atlantis all that long. Maybe about as long as it had taken to get there from Earth in the first place, and she was still struggling to adjust her mental world view to the fact that this wasn't just beachfront California with very, very nouveaux architecture. Everything was cool soaring blues, sea greens, and steel grays, like an overgrown aquarium complex filled with busy people and mission directives straight out of science fiction.
She hadn't even been allowed to slay anything yet; there was an intake process Buffy and her sister were supposed to complete before going offworld, since they hadn't gone through the usual introduction to the Stargate program. Dawn, though, being much higher on the boffin scale and already speaking enough Ancient to decipher basic code, had instantly been adopted by their Uncle John's best friend's minions; she started each day in a babble of excitement and ended it the same way. Leaving Buffy... without much of anything in the way of responsibilities, for the first time she was fifteen years old.
It had been enough time for her to learn the rhythm of the city, though: the orderly changeover of shifts, the way the men bantered to each other as they came and went from missions or explorations in the city that didn't happen to involve a Foe of the Week, and which days the mess hall cook who brewed the best coffee was in charge of the pots. (She'd been informed the supply of beans would run out before the Daedalus made it to Earth and back again, but had decided that was a panic best had another day). The quiet tension that built up after her Uncle's team went out on a search for another magical McGuffin was definitely outside the normal pattern of things.
She checked on her sister-- chatting away with Dr. McKay's long-suffering science deputy, learning yet another language by the sound of things-- then found an excuse to haunt the control room. The Canadian guy who did the gate-dialing thing was somewhere on her familiarization schedule, something about chevrons and irises and IDCs that probably didn't have anything to do with gasoline or flowerbeds and didn't stand for "I Don't Care", so she figured why not bump it up a little?
Uncle John's boss side-eyed her a little at first; but Buffy put on her best blonde expression and asked Chuck all the friendly, not quite flirtatious questions she could think of. By the time Uncle John's second-in-command dialed in-- a Major Lorne, who was seriously all the best features of Riley in uniform only even hotter, though alas, completely off limits to his boss's niece-- Dr. Weir had totally forgotten she was there, and marched up to him and his team without once looking her way.
That was definitely not the way Buffy would have preferred to find out her uncle was missing.
It wasn't the way she'd have preferred to introduce the Slayer to her uncle's boss, either, but, well; beggars couldn't be choosers.
"Look," she said, after the guys headed to the Pegasus equivalent of the locker room for a pit stop before turning and heading back out. "General O'Neill sent me to this galaxy for a reason. I know I'm not up on every little detail of handsigns or who says what on the radio or what all the gate addresses of our allies are, yet. But this kind of emergency is what I'm for, and if you let me go, I'll be with Major Lorne's team the whole time."
Dr. Weir narrowed her eyes a little, a very teachery expression that gave Buffy unexpected flashbacks to Jenny Calendar, and crossed her arms over her burgundy shirt. (Very important, the distinction between burgundy and red, as Uncle John had made sure to inform Dawn the first time she cracked a Star Trek joke). "Forgive me, but I thought the reason you were here was to keep you safe from unsavory elements within the political structure. You were sent here as a VIP, not security personnel."
Yeah, a VIP whose arrival had delayed the Daedalus long enough that by the time they went back out to the mission they'd been scheduled to do beforehand-- investigating an Ancient ship called the Aurora that had recently popped up on the city's long-range sensors-- the Wraith had managed to find the target first and jack one of their scouts into the Aurora's stasis systems. Luckily, Colonel Caldwell's crew methodically checked the ship over before doing anything risky and discovered and neutralized the Wraith before it could report whatever it had found in there. Unluckily, that had prevented them from finding any information themselves; by that time, two Wraith cruisers had shown up to investigate the disturbance, and a stray shot during the ensuing battle knocked the remaining computers and the stasis system offline. Whatever the sleeping crew had known died with them, and the wrecked ship would be weeks reaching Atlantis even with the Daedalus providing a tow. Buffy had got the impression that some people in the city were holding that unfortunate circumstance against anyone Sheppard-adjacent.
She reminded herself that nobody there really knew her yet, and drew a calming breath. "But the reason I'm a VIP is because I'm what you call a 'hoktaur'. I don't turn into a giant glowy jellyfish, or move things with my brain, or do crazy science. But I'm at least as strong as a Wraith, and I have perfect aim with every weapon your people have tested me on. This is what I'm good at. So let me prove it."
Dr. Weir shook her head slowly, though there was more speculation than outright forbidding in her expression. "The colonel would never forgive me if I let you go off-world underprepared."
Buffy stiffened her posture, crossing her own arms to echo Dr. Weir's pose. "Well, 'the colonel' isn't my employer; and I've been an adult for longer than he's even been in my life. Paperwork isn't my strong suit. Saving people is."
"Some might say it would be a conflict of interest," Dr. Weir mused, further.
"Some might say it's a conflict of interest to even let the head of the military off-Atlantis to begin with, let alone so often," Buffy countered. She should know, having followed her own trajectory from a pawn considered valuable but expendable by an overarching organization, to one of the commanding pieces on the board. And all of the expectations that came with it. It wasn't just Spike's final death as part of Angel's crusade that had sent her 'walkabout' for awhile, as Dawn put it.
"Hmmm." Dr. Weir considered a moment longer, then shook her head. "My answer's still no. Though before you attempt to argue any further--" she held up an admonishing finger, "--that's a not now, not a never. You're still not cleared for off-world activity. So while Major Lorne's team investigates, I suggest you fill in a few more of those gaps. Try to learn to trust us, at least enough to do our jobs. And if and when actionable information is uncovered...."
Buffy knew the best deal she was going to be offered when she heard it. Had she really been that obvious about holding back? She sighed, then reluctantly nodded. "Then I get to do mine?"
Dr. Weir's smile turned wryly sympathetic, and she inclined her head. "We have a deal."
Of course, all the clues Lorne's team uncovered ended up being not of the helpful, with the end result that Buffy spent the next few days on tenterhooks, cramming the rest of the introductory material she'd been dragging her feet on and spectating as Dr. Zelenka swore in Czech about the unhelpfulness of DHDs' memory systems and started her sister on crystal based tech.
Buffy had spent the last several weeks-- months, really, since Dr. McKay's long ago fishing email-- in a state of ambivalence, wary of putting herself in the hands of any seemingly-benevolent organization that might use her as leverage against her family. Or her family against her. But all that her waiting had got her was a lost Uncle anyway, and no way to get to him.
She did trust his team: the friends she'd met through his letters, before she ever exchanged funny stories with them over dinner. Was it really that much different to start putting a little trust in the city he trusted, too?
She thought about it, sitting out on a balcony with her tablet, then closed her eyes and leaned back against the sunwarmed wall behind her. The blood tests had shown Ancient genetics almost as strong as her uncle's, though Dawn beat them both out; some quirk of how the monks created her. Buffy knew she could talk to the city, if she wanted. But she'd been as cautious with that connection as she had been about the IOA; given the creepy associations from Sunnydale-- demon aspect telepathy, demons possessing the internet, and tech oriented villains, oh my-- she'd been a little wary of the hovering sense of other pressing against the fringes of her mind.
But she'd had time to adjust now, and like she'd told Dr. Weir, there was a reason she was on Atlantis. So maybe the city wasn't any more perfect than Sunnydale had been, despite its shiny exterior. So maybe General O'Neill and company had dangerous secrets and dubiously intentioned superiors and she would have to pull the emergency ripcord, some day. So what? Life was hard, and then you died; and at least out here, she wasn't the only one racking up the frequent return-flyer miles.
"Hey there, Atlantis," she said, tentatively reaching out the way Willow had taught her to do.
Something reached back-- and for a long, dazzling moment she was the city, the giant metal snowflake floating on the ocean she'd seen from orbit. Warm sunlight on her hull, rocked gently by the waves, small points of light and energy livening her so-long-abandoned walls, giving her purpose again--
She caught her breath and was Buffy, once more aching with her own purpose.
"I don't suppose you can help us find my uncle?" she murmured, pressing her hands flat against the balcony floor. "Didn't your first people have any way of star sixty-nining a DHD?"
Apparently, no one had quite put it that way to Atlantis, before. A wash of mental associations resonated off something in its database, and Buffy experienced a sudden, burning urge to visit one particular station in Dr. Zelenka's lab. Something about vigesimal timestamp indices? She climbed to her feet in a rush and tapped the radio tucked behind her ear.
"So, Dr. Weir, about that actionable intelligence...."
Ready or not, Pegasus Galaxy: here she came.
(x-posted on twistedshorts and on AO3)
