By Dave Turner.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, ‘House MD’ or ‘Commander in Chief’. I write these stories for fun not profit.
Crossover: Mainly ‘House MD’, based loosely around the episode ‘Maternity’. Characters from ‘Commander in Chief’ also appear.
Spelling, Grammar and Punctuation; Written in glorious English-English. American idioms are used wherever possible throughout this fic.
Timeline: Christmas period of 2008 in my ‘Seattle Slayers’ timeline; and after the series’ finished for both CinC and SG1.
Words: 14 Chapters of aprox 3000 words each.
Warnings: Mild language and violence some sex.
Summary: It’s time for Kennedy’s baby to be born, but there are some creatures who want to stop this at all costs.
A/N: I am not a doctor, I have no medical training other than a First Aid Certificate, so I took all the ‘medical-babble’ from the script for ‘Maternity’ found at: http://www.twiztv.com/ . The dialogue used for a lot of what the ‘House MD’ characters say was also taken from the script. However, I added all the ‘descriptive’ writing and the interactions with characters from other shows.
Beta-ed by Rachael, who is a wonderful woman. I know because she told me so!
Where I’ve used a verse from a song at the beginning of Chapter you’ll find full credits at the end of said chapter; and if you’re really lucky an address for a music vid for that song.
Sit on my face and tell me that you love me,
I’ll sit on your face and tell you I love you too.
I love to hear you o-ra-lise,
When you’re between my thighs,
You blow me away!
Sit on my Face: Monty Python.
Willow and Kennedy’s Bedroom, YSWA, Seattle.
Kennedy moaned and writhed on the bed, clenching the sheets with white knuckled hands, “Yes, yes…just there…yeah…that’s the spot!”
“Anything yet?” Willow looked up hopefully from between her lover’s legs.
“Stop using your mouth for talking!” Kennedy ordered as another wave of pleasure swept over her body. Willow obediently went back to work. “Oh yes, that’s right…oh… oh… more… keep going!”
Moaning loudly in encouragement Kennedy arched her back and squirmed under the lash of Willow’s tongue.
“Oh…oh…OH…YES!” Kennedy collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for breath, “Goddess, you’re good.”
“Years of practice,” Willow explained as she worked her way back up the bed to look into her partner’s eyes, “Feel anything?”
“If you mean am I going to go into labour anytime soon,” Kennedy put her arm around Willow’s shoulder, “I’m afraid the answers ‘nope’.”
“Darn!” Willow sighed in frustration, “I guess that’s ‘nipple stimulation’ and ‘sex’ crossed off the list. That just leaves castor oil, eating pineapple, and curry left to try.”
“Eating pineapple?” Kennedy looked at Willow, silently asking ‘why?’ “Never mind, do we have to cross sex off the list?” There was a hint of panic in Kennedy’s voice as she asked, “Maybe it’ll do the trick next time…maybe it’s something we have to persevere with?”
“It’s alright for you,” Willow lay back on her pillows and stared up at the ceiling, “All you have to do is lie there, it’s me that has to do all the hard work.”
“I’m sorry sweetie,” Kennedy tried to snuggle up to Willow but her belly got in the way, “But I promise, once I’m thin again; or I can at least see my feet you can have as many orgasms as you want…remember I’m a Slayer…I can do stuff other girls can’t!”
Willow smiled in the darkness at the memory of what Kennedy could do, but then she remembered she was supposed to be feeling grumpy.
“A case of ‘cake tomorrow’.” She sulked.
“Don’t be like that, honey,” Pleaded Kennedy, “I promise you that a week after our little visitor is out and about,” Kennedy stroked her tummy, “You’ll be in danger of endorphin poisoning!”
“Hmm,” Willow was not convinced.
For a few minutes there was silence as the two women lay in their bed and watched the ceiling together.
“If I don’t kill something soon,” Kennedy held on to Willow’s hand tightly, “I think I’ll go insane!”
Lord Hasseldorf’s Domain.
The Demon Lord Hasseldorf was a traditional demon in many ways, and this showed most of all in his decoration choices for his Throne Cavern. Walls of rough hewn rock were lit by the eternal flames from the rivers of lava that flowed in channels around the base of the walls. The walls themselves went up and up into the darkness to meet in a great dome that no one, human or demon, had ever seen.
The throne on which Hasseldorf was at present seated, was of a design beloved of demons and maniacal despots everywhere. It was huge, towering above even the Demon Lord himself. It was made of some really durable material (after all it had to withstand the intense heat of the throne room, plus the weight of the Demon Lord himself). It was carved with designs that would drive a human insane had they survived long enough to actually set eyes on them. To complete the decorations there were the obligatory skulls carved at strategic points on the arms and the back.
This insanely magnificent throne was set on a raised stone dais well above the sand covered floor of the Demon’s audience chamber. Back lit by the flames from a pit of fire the throne cast its dark menacing shadow across the cavern. Hasseldorf lay sprawled in his imperial seat, one leg dangled over the arm as he idly pulled the arms and legs off a minor demon that had displeased him in some way. The screams of tortured souls in the background were like music to his ears as were the screams of the demon he was at present dismembering.
Hasseldorf looked up from his work and cast his eyes over to the entrance of the chamber. Through the flickering light he could make out the shape of his Chancellor, Squiftic.
“Advance,” Ordered Hasseldorf, his voice booming through the cave. He threw his plaything away over his shoulder and into the fire, the minor, and now limbless, demon screamed for second before being consumed in the lava pool behind the throne.
Squiftic progressed across the cavern towards his Lord and Master. He moved with a peculiar limping, hopping gait caused by a withered leg, a souvenir of a fight with a paladin hundreds of years before.
“My Lord,” Cried Squiftic a delighted smile split his hideous features, “I bring good news!”
Hasseldorf sat up and turned to face his Chancellor, a malevolent smile spreading across his visage.
“Yes! Yes!” Hasseldorf nearly bounced in his throne with excitement; Squiftic came to halt before him and bowed low.
“All the results are finally in, my Lord,” Squiftic chortled with pleasure as he cast a glance up at his infernal master, “It has been confirmed…Nathan Templeton has won the election and is now President elect of the United States of America!”
“EXCELLENT!” Roared the Demon Lord.
It cost the demon much treasure, time, and a couple of embarrassing defeats at the hands of the Seattle Slayers and their Witch, to ensure that his candidate was elected. After the incident when he had ordered the abduction of the President’s daughters, President Mackenzie Allen had looked as if she would win. It had taken a great deal of gold and influence to counteract the popular groundswell of sympathy from the voting public.
Luckily for Hasseldorf large numbers of CEOs belonging to various mega-corporations and leaders of the so-called churches that humans seemed to love so much had been in Hasseldorf’s debt. These creatures had long ago sold their souls to the demon, now they used their influence to counteract the popular vote and further the course of their demonic master. Hasseldorf chuckled to himself; he loved it when a plan came together.
“When will he take over from that slut-bitch Allen?” Hasseldorf smiled evilly.
“Not until the new year, My Lord,” Squiftic took another step towards his lord, “These humans have strange ways.” He shrugged his shoulders at the insanity of humans, “Will you be wanting to take over Templeton’s personality straight away, or will you leave him some free will for a little while?”
Hasseldorf rested his chin on a taloned hand and considered his Chancellor’s question.
“I am of a mind to take over Templeton’s body and mind slowly…over a period of years.” Hasseldorf nodded agreement with his own plan. “Let him feel his soul drift away…and that wonderful moment when he realises what he has done just before he descends into oblivion.” Hasseldorf’s laughter rocked the chamber and brought down dust from the ceiling. “I am in no great hurry,” He explained, “I have waited hundreds of years for this moment I will not spoil it by rushing things…In this case I think ‘slow and steady wins the race’ is what we should keep in mind.”
“Yes my Lord,” Squiftic stood up and regarded his Master, he came to a decision; no time like the present, while the master was in a good mood. “There is another matter I need to bring to your attention…oh great one.”
“Squiftic,” Hasseldorf eyed his Chancellor suspiciously. “When you start toadying like that I know you’ve got something you think I won’t like hearing…come on, spit it out!”
Squiftic shifted uncomfortably under his Master’s gaze.
“It’s the prophecy, Great Lord,” Hasseldorf looked confused for a moment “The ‘Son of the Slayer’ one.” Squiftic explained helpfully.
“Damn! What have you found out?” Hasseldorf shifted in his seat, the ‘Son of the Slayer’ was the one fly in his ointment.
While there had been only one Slayer the chances of there ever being a ‘Son of the Slayer’ was slim to say the least, and with those old fools in charge of the Watchers Council, that was likely to remain so. But then that thrice cursed red haired Witch Bitch had cast her magics, and now there are thousands of the meddling whores infesting the planet. Each one opening her legs to be impregnated by the first penis that came along. So far his agents had managed to ‘terminate’ each Slayer pregnancy except for two.
“I’m afraid the Watcher’s and their Slayer bitches have found out about the prophesy,” Squiftic took a careful step or two away from his Master, “They have already thwarted one attempt to terminate the pregnancy of the Witch’s Slayer Slut.” The Chancellor sighed and shook his head sadly, “One of our best agents in the Pacific Northwest too.”
“GODS OF THE INFERNAL DEPTHS!” Howled the Demon Lord, several fist sized rocks fell from the chamber’s ceiling and dust filled the air.
The Prophesy was the one great danger to Hasseldorf’s plans. Put simply the prophesy stated that Hasseldorf would rule over the world for all eternity. His rule would start exactly one hundred years after the ‘Last Chosen One’ died, and that he could only be killed by the ‘Son of the Slayer’. His cohorts had discovered that the bitch whore Buffy Summers was the last ‘Chosen One’; the operative word here being ‘one’. She had been the last Slayer chosen when there was still only ‘the one girl in all the world’. The ‘Son of the Slayer’ was a little more uncertain.
“Send a troop of Flying Monkey Demons to dispose of the ‘Robin Wood’ whore monger.” Ordered Hasseldorf, “Or maybe that should be ‘troupe’?” Hasseldorf looked expectantly at his Chancellor.
Squiftic shrugged his shoulders and started to scurry towards the entrance, relieved that his master had taken the news so well.
“Then send Rhode to me…” added the Demon Lord, “I will have a job for him.”
Hasseldorf sat back in his throne and took several calming breaths. There was no need to get overexcited, after all he had known of the prophecy for a couple of hundred years. It came to light when he first set his plans for global domination in motion; he knew he would have to face this moment someday.
He smiled to himself and laughed softly, Rhode would deal with this problem; he was an expert at such things, soon Kennedy DeSilver, forever-cursed-Slayer-bitch-whore-slut that she was, would hold the dead body of her child in her arms and know torment and pain beyond imagining. It was ironic really; she should be on his side. She was, after all, the grand-daughter of one of his greatest agents. Hasseldorf threw back his head and laughed.
Yes, Rhode would deal with everything.
The Oval Office, the White House, Washington DC.
President Allen stared out of the Oval Office windows and watched the snow settle on the White House lawn. It seemed to her that the snow was burying all her hopes and dreams for the future under a suffocating blanket of reactionary conservatism, which would stifle social progress for at least another four more years. She sighed and turned back to her desk and the papers that lay there. Nothing she did mattered now; she had been reduced to little more than a rubber stamp, a caretaker for the country, just waiting for the new incumbent to take over form her.
The campaign had gone so well, she had really thought she could win. Guiltily she had to admit that Amy and Rebecca’s kidnapping had worked to her advantage, but somehow Templeton had managed to claw back support until he had won by a comfortable margin. Listlessly she picked up her pen and signed a few more papers.
Today was the day before Christmas Eve, her second and final Christmas at the White House. She held no delusions that she might ever be back in this office as anything more than a visitor, her time had passed. Time to write her memoirs; maybe take up one of those positions she had been offered by several universities.
What would her staff do now? Jim, Kelly, Vince, they had all supported her loyally through good times and bad. Jim (the soon to be ex-Vice President) would no doubt get a job on some Board of Directors’. Kelly, her Press Secretary, and Vince, her Personal Assistant might find things harder, she made a mental note to make sure that they did not suffer for following a loser. A soft knock on the door interrupted her dark thoughts. The door was opened by Vince Taylor who stuck his head around the door to check if she was free.
“The First Gentleman is here to see you Ma’am.” He stood aside to let Rod Calloway, the President’s husband, into the Oval Office.
Mack got up to greet her husband as Vince quietly shut the door and left the couple in peace. President Allen led Rod by the hand over to the sofas in the middle of the office; they sat down next to one another, she eyed the thick file in Rod’s hand.
“Is that what I think it is?” President Allen leant back into the sofa and waited for her husband to explain his findings.
Shortly after her daughters had been rescued and their kidnappers killed, the President had her husband investigate the very strange circumstances around the actual kidnapping, and the girls eventual release. What she expected to be an investigation of a couple of weeks into secret government security operations turned into something much deeper and darker.
Rod sighed and looked at his wife; he flicked idly through the pages of the file held in his hand. He did not need to read it, he knew the contents off by heart and the knowledge it contained chilled him to the bone. On occasion he had woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, frightened by dreams of the things he had found out.
“Are you sure you want to know?” He held up the file in his hand, “I could have this destroyed and you can believe that Amy and Rebecca were rescued by that Colonel Finn from a terrorist group like all the reports say.”
“I need to know, Rod.” Mack replied levelly, Rod took a deep breath and began his report.
“The girls were rescued by the Seattle operatives of a secret organisation that calls itself the ‘Slayer and Guardians Council’. They seem to specialise in combating the occult and some stuff that is so strange that I didn’t believe it myself…at first.”
“But now you do?” The President regarded her husband’s troubled expression with concern.
“Yes Mack,” Rod shook his head in bewilderment. “And I wish to God that it was all fairy tales…we live in an incredibly strange world as it is, but this...” Rod reached over to his wife and took her hand in his. “You remember that Debbie Howard woman?”
“The fiery reporter from the Press office that Horace…” The President left any euphemism for ‘screwed’ unsaid.
“Yeah that’s her,” Rod ran his hand through his hair before continuing; “She was one of these ‘Slayers’.”
“Slayers?” queried the President.
“A ‘Slayer’ is a person, most usually a teenage girl but sometimes an older woman, but always a female, who has genetically enhanced senses, strength and reactions…let me put it this way, if two or three of them wanted you dead there’s not a lot your Secret Service Protection detail could do to stop them. Luckily they don’t work for anyone other than this council and they are more interested in what we might call more ‘unusual’ activities.”
“Like?” The President’s question hung in the air between them.
Rod started explaining things to his wife in detail.
As he spoke the President’s face at first looked disbelievingly at her husband, but then as he presented each new piece of evidence, Mack’s expression changed to one of horror.
“Those poor girls,” she gasped as her husband finished speaking.
“As I say, Mack, it’s better than it was,” He threw the main file onto the coffee table in front of him but retained a slimmer file in his had, “This Guardians Council at least tries to give their Slayers as normal a life as they can. It makes sure they go to school, college and so on. Gives the girls back up on missions, tries to limit each Slayer’s exposure to danger…”
“But all the same, Rod,” Mack hesitated, lost for words for a moment, “They’re just girls.”
“Yeah, girls that could snap your neck like a twig. I think you’ll understand it more once you’ve read the file.” Rod indicated the file on the table, “Then there’s this.” Rod held up the smaller file.
“Yeah, things just get weirder and weirder.” He opened the file and placed a photograph on the table. “This is a picture of Kennedy DeSilver. She is the head Slayer for the Seattle chapter of the SGC…they call themselves the ‘Young Slayer’s Wicca Association!” Rod glanced at the expression on his wife’s face, “Don’t ask me why. These people seem to do things for no other reason than they think it’s funny!”
“Anyway,” Rod settled back in his seat and glanced at the file once more before continuing, “She led the assault group that rescued the girls…and note she was at least three months pregnant at the time!” Rod let that information sink in for a moment before handing Mack a sheet of paper, “You’ll never believe who her Grandfather was.”
Puzzled, President Allen took the sheet of typed paper from her husband and read it through, and then she read it again. Next she read it for a third time to make sure she had not misunderstood anything the first two times she had read it. She turned to look at her husband her face a picture of shocked amazement.
“My God, Rod!” She gasped eventually, “If this ever got out…if anyone ever found out…we’d…we’d have to rewrite the history books!” Mack put down the paper and really thought about the consequences of what she had just read. “The damage it could do to the Office of the President…and all those conspiracy theories, they were right!”
“More or less,” agreed Rod.
“And she doesn’t know who she is?”
“Not a clue, as far as I’ve been able to find out, her parents went to extraordinary lengths to cover it all up.”
President Allen pondered her options for a moment.
“You say these Slayers and their Guardians are no threat to the United States?” Mack asked.
“If anything they actively discourage any involvement in any nation’s politics.”
“How many copies are there of that report?”
“I took the precaution of wiping the memories of any computer we used to store the information…” began Rod but his wife interrupted.
“You can’t completely wipe computer memory.”
“You can if you totally destroy the computer.” Rod grinned at his wife, “Apart from this copy there is one other paper copy and a copy on a digital disc.”
“Good,” The President started to issue orders. “Have those copies hidden somewhere safe, send at least one copy out of the country to someone you trust implicitly. Break up you team and have them put back on regular duties. Do any of them know the full details?”
Rod shook his head.
Mack breathed a sigh of relief she wanted to minimise any chance of a leak, “These women put themselves at risk to get our girls back for us. They didn’t have to, and then they went to some lengths to ensure someone else got the credit. For whatever reason they did that, I don’t think it was from a desire to gain some advantage.”
“I want to meet this Kennedy DeSilver and her partner, Willow Rosenberg?” She glanced at her husband, “And get that Colonel Finn here, I’d like a word with him too.” Mack rose and walked over to her desk.
Rod stood up and followed his wife with his eyes.
“I don’t intend to inform President Elect Templeton about this…ever.” The President sat down behind her desk. “There’s something about that man I don’t trust, and from what you’ve told me the new President doesn’t need to know about Slayers…just like that Roswell business.”
‘Sit On My Face.’
Words: Eric Idle.
Music: Harry Parr Davies.
Music Vid: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xck9FaO_zA4