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This story is No. 1 in the series "Weird sisters". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: An Air Force officer visits a certain Gallery, looking for a gift for a subordinate. Now the first part of its own series.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Joyce-Centered(Current Donor)vidiconFR717710195,85923 Sep 1123 Sep 11Yes
Author’s note:

I do not own Buffy or Stargate. This is a stand alone story, not part of any series. It may or may not get sequels, depending on reception.

Thanks to my Beta, Letomo.


His wife would have loved this Gallery. That was his first thought upon entering. She would have loved it and spent hours trawling through the knick knacks and etchings and watercolours and myriad artwork from foreign places. The second thought was that it would be the perfect place to pick up a gift for Daniel. He smiled fondly as he thought about the young archaeologist. It wasn’t quite regulations to buy gifts for subordinates, but Daniel was not in the line of command, in the strict sense, so he could get away with it, in his own highly ethical mind.

A shapely blonde woman stepped out into the salesroom from small office and smiled at him brightly. “Good afternoon. Can I help you, or are you browsing?”

“I’m looking for a gift for a colleague. He’s an archaeologist, an Egyptologist, but he loves all things, well, ancient and quirky.” He replied, smiling back.

“Ancient and quirky…hmmmm. Might he be interested in a fake Egyptian tablet?”

“Fake?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, the real ones may not be exported anymore without permission. These were made at the height of the Egypt craze in the nineteenth century…and the decoration…lets just say it needs to be locked up to keep it from children…”

The man let out a guffaw. “That might be worth it just to see his face. Can I see one?”

The woman nodded and took a key out of the pocked of her slacks and opened a closed art-deco cupboard.

The tablets were standing on the shelves and the man stared in disbelief. “You weren’t joking about the decorations…dear me…”

“Yes…I…errr…they came with the cabinet.” She blushed slightly. “I’m not really very good at selling them; they don’t quite fit the rest of the collection…” She gestured around her. “As you can see.”

“Yes. They may be a bit too much for Daniel.”

She sighed and closed the doors, pouting. “I’m never going to sell them…”

He laughed.  “Well, at least you’ll have something to look at… Hey, what about that? What’s that?”

“Hmmm, that’s a Star statue, made by the Dogon of Africa. They apparently have knowledge of astronomy far in advance of what they should be able to know…” She made a face. “If you believe in that sort of thing…”

“You know, I think he might enjoy that.” The man checked the price and nodded. “I’ll take it. Can you box it up for me; I need to take it to Colorado Springs…”

The blonde woman nodded. “Air Force?”


“Senior officer?”

The man smiled. “Yes.”

“My father was in the Air Force.” The woman deftly wrapped the statue in soft paper and then put it in a box, placing balled newspapers around it to keep it safe.

“What’s his name?”

“Fraiser.”  The woman’s voice was clipped. She was tying a piece of string around the box, clearly not willing to discuss the man.

“I see. William MacDonald Fraiser?”

She dropped her scissors. “Yes.”

“I take it you aren’t on good terms with him?”

“He left my mother and two sisters and me to marry another woman. I haven’t seen him since I was four years old. It took mom ten years to get him to pay any type of child support and he broke her heart. You know him?” She had picked up the scissors and they looked very much like lethal weapons to the man.

“No. I never met him…from what I hear; I doubt I would have liked him very much.”

“Then how do you know his name?”

“His daughter is one of my subordinates.” He replied quietly. “You look a bit like her. I’m sorry.” 

The woman let out a breath and used the scissors to snip the excess twine.” It’s not your fault my father was a bastard.”

“It’s not hers either.” He pointed out quietly.

“No doubt. That does not mean I want to meet the spawn of the woman who stole my father.”  She pushed the box towards him, her lips set in a tense line. He nodded, paid, took his box and left. He surreptitiously palmed one of the business cards on the table by the exit.

Sunnydale Gallery. Joyce Summers, proprietor.

George Hammond nodded to himself and stuck the card in his pocket. He needed to have a talk with Dr. Fraiser; that much was obvious.


The End

You have reached the end of "Gallery". This story is complete.

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