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Trick Or Treat

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Summary: COMPLETE: An escaped Goa'uld, and rather sadistic Powers to Be, bring Xander out of the dubious security of his quaint little demon filled world, and into a not so quaint alien filled star system.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Xander-Centered > Theme: FriendshipKeiFR1547116,45636210491,176,58019 Jun 0431 Oct 06Yes

Job Interview

AN: Yes, I'm here. Please kick me next time I disappear. I do respond to
pleas/threats. I'm weak.

Er, in story news, please remember that in the Angel verse, Season Five never happened.
Take the end of four (taking over Wolfram and Hart) and tack on a couple of years.
Voila. And yes, I meant to not give the President a name. Excuse any technical
impossibilities in terms of politics on my part, please. I am ignorant. Feel free to
enlighten me though.

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I felt this chapter was rough, and I'm
terrified of ending stories. Yes, we are eventually going to hit an ending. Emphasis
on the eventually. Thanks for reading and sticking with me guys (and nominating me)!




********************* Trick or Treat: Chapter Thirty One **********************



Sam watched the younger blonde woman hold the little girl, Haley, who shrieked with
laughter and hid in Buffy’s arms as her father, Agent Riley, tickled her. His comrade,
Agent Graham, watched stoically on, though Sam could see the gentle amusement in the
other man’s eyes. Daniel had cornered the only other real adult left in the room, a Mr.
Giles, and was having a conversation concerning the ancient Sumerian people that was a
bit obscure, even for her to follow.

The hospital room itself should have seemed packed as there was almost twenty people in
the small room, but most of Xander’s girls had settled down on the floor where they had
dragged pillows and blankets in from a nearby supply closet. They all seemed more
subdued than the first time SG-1 had met them weeks ago, on Halloween, but one of their
own had been killed. Sam was surprised there were as few tears as there was. Instead
most of them were simply talking quietly in small groups, and several of the youngest
were gathered around a young man who had been introduced as Andrew.

The woman who was Buffy’s little sister, Dawn, was curled up asleep in the hospital bed.
One bandaged hand curled under her chin and her skin was pale enough that she looked
washed out against the white sheets. Buffy would pause in her play every couple of
minutes to examine her sister from across the room and Sam sympathized. She’d spent her
share of time watched members of her team covertly when they were unwell. On the days
when the Colonel’s knee was acting up, or Daniel hadn’t slept.

There was so much they didn’t know, so many things she doubted she ever would know about
the people they had come into contact with. There were so many secrets buried in the
meaningful glances that passed between all of them, so many things that would never be
said, and Sam felt terribly tired in the face of it all.

Wasn’t saving the world from aliens enough to ask? As much as she wanted to know, needed
to know things, a part of her wanted her to take what was given to her with this, and
leave the rest alone. She couldn’t even force herself to accept the evidence of Vampires
and magic. Couldn’t find the words to express how ridiculous this entire situation was
and, considering some of SG-1’s past exploits that was saying something. Maybe, just
this once, it wasn’t her place to fight.

She tilted her heads towards Teal’c and whispered in an undertone. “Did you get any
readings off of any of them? Anything well, Xander like?”

Teal’c gave no notice of her having said anything but replied back softly, so softly his
lips barely moved. “Nothing like Xander Harris. But I have only touched Buffy Summers
thus far.” And Xander hadn’t set off Junior until there had been physical contact.

Sam’s lips tightened as she straightened and regarded the blonde. As if sensing the
attention, the younger woman raised her head and met Sam’s eyes unflinchingly. There
was steel there, and she found herself wondering if Buffy’s clothes his scars similar to
Xander’s.

Buffy smiled at her, but her eyes were hard, the eyes of a woman who’s spent most of her
life fighting.

Apparently the two friends shared more than a red haired witch and an interest in future
generations. Sam would bet her next promotion that, even with two eyes, Buffy had been
witness to whatever horrors had taught Xander to fight with one eye and stake dead men
with clipboards.

The thought made her sad.

********************************************************************************


Benjamin Locke wet his lips and stared at the red phone on his desk. He’d held this
office within the NID for the last seven years and hadn’t once had to call the President
of the United States. No situation had warranted such actions, and it was a sign of
weakness among their organization to go to one who was not part of their structure of
command. The NID, government body or not, was frighteningly autonomous for a bureaucratic
body.

It’s what made their rogue agents so damn embarrassing, and dangerous. Dangerous enough
that Benjamin doubted he’d live to see an eighth year in this office, especially when
independent idiots like Robert Kinsey decided to go muck things up.

He reached out with a sigh and dialed the red phone. Moments later he had the most
powerful man in the free world on the other end. “Is there a situation?”

Benjamin struggled with himself briefly before expelling a breath. “Yes sir, Mr.
President. We were recently notified by the local Cleveland police force who detained
several government agents. These agents took part in an attack of a house in the
Cleveland suburbs on the orders of…”

The President’s sharply indrawn breath paused Benjamin and the other man sounded weary
when he interrupted. “I hope to God and country you aren’t going to tell me that this
house belonged to anyone who once lived in Sunnydale, California.” Benjamin’s unhappy
silence was assent enough. He ignored the sharp curse that followed from the President.
“Were there injuries?”

Benjamin Locke’s hold tightened on the receiver of the phone. “Information is somewhat
delayed at best due to the sensitive nature of this emergency, but there was one fatality,
a young girl, one Ashley Ward, and several injuries, including Dawn Summer, sister of…”

“Buffy Summers. Damn!”

********************************************************************************

The President of the United States of America regarded the phone he held with dismay and
a cold pit of dread which was growing by leaps and bounds in his stomach, right next to
the throbbing ulcer. Responsibility was a bitch.

His predecessors had been the ones to deal directly with Buffy Summers and company. He
himself knew very little about the events which had brought their organization and
particular services to the attention of the government. His understanding was, the less
known, the better. He knew that several of his agents kept tabs on the group, this
reformed Council, through periodic surveillance gigs, but nothing major.

Some of the best advice the big chief before him had given was to treat that entire group
like an ant hill. They may look tiny, but they could strip the flesh off a man better
than piranhas. Granted, he hadn’t taken that advice to heart until several of the more
senior Joint Chiefs had made similar recommendations under their breaths.

Whatever the press said about his policies, he had never been one to poke an angry gorilla
with a stick, and wasn’t about to start. The NID as far as he knew had even less
information on the Slayers than he did. Considering the independent, and quite frankly,
somewhat corrupt nature of the powerful shadowy organization, that had always been for the
best- to avoid situations such as this.

“Sir, I thought you might want to know who gave the orders.”

He considered for a moment before replying. “You know what, I don’t. I think the less I
know about this mess, the better. Can I ask what our injured party is doing right now?”

He could almost hear Benjamin Locke’s nervousness across the line. “Regrouping at the
hospital. Sir, also, SG-1 from Stargate Command are there as well. They’ve been keeping
Xander Harris as a guest at Cheyenne Mountain…” Christ. You might as well shoot a herd
of angry gorillas with pellet guns. You’d have the same effect. “How should this
situation be handled?”

The President snorted but replied swiftly enough. He’d seen pictures of Vampire attacks,
even if he didn’t quite believe in them. “This is strictly off the record, ALL of it,
understand? All right, hands off. As of now your organization, hell, the government,
is totally uninvolved. Regardless of who gave the orders that sent NID agents to whatever
house they crashed, think of the Council as having diplomatic immunity. They’re free to
handle this SITUATION as they see fit. Am I clear?”

This time he could definitely hear Locke shift in his chair and sigh. “As a bell.”

“Good.”

********************************************************************************

They were walking back towards the hospital. Well, drifting more like it, but slowly
heading back none the less. Jack couldn’t quite help himself from studying Alexander
Lavelle Harris under the cover of night. The young man at his side seemed looser, more
relaxed, after giving The Talk. It’d been a hell of a talk, even by Jack’s standards,
and since he’d been let into the secret of aliens it took a lot to impress him, secret
wise.

Of course now he’d been let into the secret of aliens, Vampires, and demons.

It made sense, in a way, having noted so often how Xander moved, how he carried himself,
how he compensated for the lack of depth perception with his missing eye. Speaking of
eye… “Your eye is from a battle?”

The shaggy haired man didn’t break stride but he did pause a fraction of a beat and shoved
his hands deep into the front pants pockets of his B.D.U.s. “Yeah, some evil priest was
working for a major evil, the First Evil if you want to get specific. Poked it out in the
basement of a vineyard. Like a squashed grape.” The light tone belied the horror the
words called up.

“And your other scars?” Jack asked softly.

Xander’s laughter had a tinge of bitterness to it that Jack couldn’t fault. Hell, if he’d
looked like Xander at twenty-five, he’d have been bitter too. You didn’t end up looking
like that unless you’d been THROUGH hell. “Lions, and tiger, and bears, oh my. Same
thing, different tune. Some are claws, some teeth, some knife wounds, some just scars.
Hard to remember when you wake up in the hospital half healed a week later.”

He paused and looked at Jack. “What about you? Dawn told me she had Riley check out your
records. Even without all the science fiction stuff you’ve seen your fair share of
battles.”

Caught red handed with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. “Well… yeah. I mean, I
guess.” For someone who routinely greeted new alien races, he was surprisingly inept at
basic conversational conventions. Maybe that was why he always let Daniel talk first.
Well, if he remembered to.

They ambled on in renewed silence. Jack was grateful for the silence for once cause
Xander had given him a hell of a lot to think about. But not so much that he forgot why
they’d snatched him off the streets to begin with. They were walking up the main steps
of the hospital when he finally asked. It wasn’t the most private place in the world,
but there weren’t too many people wandering about near dawn anyway. The ones who were
hanging about were usually so sick or busy bleeding to death on their way to the
emergency room to pay any attention to two haphazardly dressed men, one of whom was
really starting to resemble the Unabomber.

Xander needed a shower and a shave. Badly.

“Why do symbiotes react so violently to you? How are you the Scourge of the Goa’uld?”

Xander sucked a deep breath in and turned to him. The younger man was nearing haggard
under the unforgiving fluorescent lighting. He met Jack’s eyes unwaveringly though, and
Jack’s bruised jaw ached a bit in psychological response. “Do you trust me, Jack?”

The man who was second in command of the Stargate project, the man who was considered a
hero a dozen times over by anyone with a security clearance high enough to read his files
in their entirety, stared at Xander Harris. Xander of the comic books and jello and
ability to cause Goa’uld mind wrenching pain. Xander, mother hen to a clutch of scared
female girls doomed to spend the remainder of their lives fighting things that would make
grown men cry out in fear.

Only he stood besides them- in dark alleyways, in sewers, in abandoned factories. Jack
didn’t need Xander to tell him that Xander went after all the dark things too, and he did
it without superpowers.

“I trust you.” As soldiers, as men. “Yeah, I trust you.”

“Then give me time, and I will give you the Scourge of the Goa’uld. But I promise you
this, it isn’t me.” The younger man glanced up at the night sky grimly. “It will never
be me.”

********************************************************************************

Angel pushed his feet off his desk as his phone buzzed. He fumbled with the technology
for a bit and cursed under his breath. You think a being who was working their way
towards a third centennial could manage an office phone, but they were surprisingly
elusive. Although he wouldn’t put it past Wolfram and Hart to have put evil spirits in
them or something. Something.

“Hello, yes?”

“Sir, you have a call on Line 1, an Alexander Harris. He says it’s urgent.”

Angel’s unbeating heart lurched painfully as his suddenly numb fingers reached for the
buttons that would transfer the call to Xander. Oh gods… if Xander was calling him that
could only mean… Could only mean that something truly awful had happened to one of the
three women he cared deeply about: Buffy, Faith, or Willow.

Or all three.

“Xander? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Buff, Wills, and Faith are fine.” Angel expelled a breath he had been subconsciously
holding even as his thoughts crowded in on themselves. If everyone was fine then why
would XANDER of all people be calling HIM? The younger man coughed on the end of the
line and when he spoke Angel could hear the strain, the weariness that had been masked
in those first reassuring words.

Over two hundred and fifty years had to be good for something aside from being left behind
by technology.

“I need a favor.”

Angel’s brows drew together. “Xander…”

The boy, pig-headed as ever, barreled on. “I have a job offer for you.”

********************************************************************************

Buffy slipped into Willow’s temporary hospital room. The overhead lights were off, but
the bedside lamp was on. Will was still sound asleep, curled up on the bed, though
someone, probably a Xander shaped someone, had gotten some extra blankets out of the
room’s closet and put them over her, so the red haired witch wasn’t just sleep on top of
the covers.

She got cold when she slept.

Xander was kneeling at her bedside, his back to the window, facing the door. If Buffy had
gotten here first, she’d have taken up the very same position. It was the best place in
the room to be strategically and if Xander was good at one thing, which he wasn’t since
he rocked at so many things, it was staying alive. Alive enough to get kicked around by
mini-Slayers in weapons practice anyway.

One of Willow’s hands was curled up under her chin, but Xander gently held the other. He
met her eyes as she came into the room. Buffy hugged herself, and reached for the
bantering words. It was hard sometimes, but necessary. Funny how puns had probably had
as much to do with holding the Scoobies together over the years as much as faith or love
or anger.

Ah, the power of humor.

“You escaping the sea of hormones?”

Xander’s lips curled with a bit of a smile and the tension in his shoulders eased ever so
slightly. See? “Nah,” he replied lightheartedly, “just wanted to check on Wills.”

Buffy walked to the other side of the bed and prodded the witch with her index finger and
no small amount of real amusement. “She sleeps like the dead. Well, the non-rising
variety, which is of the good. Willow stakage would be bad.”

Xander’s lips twitched again involuntarily. “Very bad.”

“Apocalyptic bad.”

“You’d loose your shopping buddy.”

Buffy cocked a loose fist on one hip. “I think we covered things with the apocalyptic
bit.”

Xander right out grinned. “My bad.”

She snorted but smiled herself. Gods, she missed them both so much whenever she was
traveling which was too often by far. “So, how’d the old man handle the verbal dog and
pony show?”

Xander folded Willow’s hand across her chest and shrugged. “Better than the usual
parent. No girlish screams of disbelief and he didn’t even get the Buffy Strongwoman
act. He wasn’t asking to join the mailing list or anything, but Jack’s got a pretty
open mind, despite appearances.”

“I guess that’s good.”

“Yeah.”

She reached across the bed and took one of Xander’s startled hands. His fingers curled
reflexively around hers as he met her eyes. “You’re going to take Kinsey out, aren’t
you?” She didn’t need to hear the words, not when the truth was staring at her from his
dark, one eyed gaze. Buffy’s throat closed with tears as he took a turn to lean across
the bed and brush his lips against her brow.

“I’ll take care of things.”

She watched him for a long moment before squeezing his fingers again. “As long as you
take care of yourself too.”

She dropped his fingers.

“Sure Buff.”

She swallowed thickly. Liar.
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