AN: Fic-A-Thon for FaithUnbreakable who wanted:
Buffy, Faith, Oz in Anita Blake, Harry Potter, Stargate Atlantis with "Someone's
hidden past, surprise meeting(s), Possible Scooby bashing".
I tried to fit most of it in, to limited success. I think the POV is bothering me.
Anyway, let me know.
Also, I now have a LiveJournal which has things like any and all update notices
for ANYTHING I do in ANY fandom. That's right, I'm easily trackable now. Feel
free to friend, or just lurk. Whatever is fine. :)
********************** Diplomatic Immunity **************************
“I’m going to kill Willow. Slowly, and creatively, with a SPOON.”
Buffy snorted at her sister Slayer as she attempted to pick her way through the muck
underfoot. Unfortunately, there weren’t too many options when it came to mud. You
pretty much had to walk THROUGH it, not around it. “You’re going to kill her? I’m
the one wearing $200 shoes. She did this on purpose, I know it, because I let Dawn
put that laxative in Kennedy’s coffee the other morning.”
Faith muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath about vindictive lesbians.
Buffy’s Slayer hearing picked up on it fine, but she was still feeling gracious enough
to pretend NOT to have heard. That and she kind of agreed. With the vindictive bit,
the lesbian part was always pretty inconsequential when it came to Willow exacting her
unique form of justice. Although, at least she hadn’t turned them inside out.
That was a plus.
“Why on earth did you pay $200 dollars for those anyway?”
Buffy frowned and paused in their plow through the underbrush as she looked down at
her feet. The bright gold strappy sandals, her new best friends, twinkled at her,
even through the muck. She cocked her head and smiled back. “They make me happy.”
“So do vibrators, and you can get a decent one for fifty bucks.”
The blonde Slayer wrinkled her nose. “Eww, no thank you.”
Faith sighed, long suffering. “Fine then, be a prude, spend $200 on shoes. But why
Buffy glared at the brunette, letting her eyes appraise the latex pants and silver
sequined tank top Faith had on. Even being exposed to her for fifteen years definitely
hadn’t helped Faith’s fashion sense at ALL. Cordelia would have been appalled if she
had still been alive. Since she wasn’t, Buffy was just going to have to be appalled on
her behalf. Not that THAT was too hard. Really. Sequins? “Cause that monstrosity
you have on is SO much better.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Buffy snorted and turned back to the third member of their party. “Oz, will you please
tell her she must have been blind to leave the house like THAT?”
The man who was a werewolf three nights a month and who had, until now, been following
behind the two women, head down as he concentrated on tracking, stopped suddenly and
blinked. Buffy and Faith stood there, side by side, hands imperiously resting on their
respective hips as they glared at him.
He took in Buffy’s highly inappropriate footwear, Faith’s sequin decorated cleavage,
and held up his hands instantly in supplication. “Hey, now, woah. What? I’m just the
werewolf sacrifice, remember?”
Buffy rolled her eyes as Faith snorted. “We’re not really going to sacrifice you.
Just use you as wolfie bait.”
Oz shrugged. “This gig still didn’t call for fashion consulting.” He pretended that
his own enhanced hearing didn’t pick up the highly uncomplimentary things both women
muttered under their breaths after that.
Jean-Claude knew it was true love. Otherwise not even he, in all his kindness and all
encompassing benevolence, could have overlooked some of the words coming out of the
mouth of his lover. “Really ma petite, you’ve known of this meeting for weeks,” he
chided, “you assured me you were capable of dressing yourself.”
His human servant scowled at him from across the seat of his limo, looking churlish.
“I’m NOT a child. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself. I’m just not some sort of
fashion diva, okay?” She tugged self-consciously on the gore splattered leather jacket
which covered an even more gore splattered t-shirt. At least her jacket and slacks were
It made the blood less noticeable.
Jean-Claude leaned forward and inhaled, feeling a curl of smugness begin to rise lazily
in his stomach as her eyes instantly dilated and focused on his lips. “Trust me, ma
petite, I have never thought of you as a… child.”
She licked her own lips and he distantly considered his likelihood of being allowed to
ravage her before they reached the hotel. Until Asher admonished him sharply, in French.
Jean-Claude sighed and reclined back against the red leather as the moment was ruined
and the vexing human he had found fascinating for so long returned to her favorite
pastime, being vexed at him.
“You’re lucky I was able to come at all. I do have a job you know. Bert had some last
minute clients come in and I was the only one with the night off. You remember what OFF
means, right? That whole free time concept? And in case you’ve forgotten, this meeting
was scheduled for the MORNING.”
He sighed. “It still is.”
There was a moment of silence as he counted the heartbeats until his lover exploded. One.
Two… “What?! Then what the HELL am I doing here now?”
Asher sighed, the sound somewhat more wearied than was entirely appropriate in a semi-
underling. “Jean-Claude has learned that our visitors might be more of a threat and
“So instead of meeting on neutral ground for the first time he’s going to have us go bully
them when they’re exhausted and off-balance?” Anita snapped. The blonde Vampire smiled
smugly at this astute assessment. Definitely not appropriate behavior for an underling.
“Jesus Jean-Claude, this is an inter-dimensional treaty we’re talking about, not war.”
Jean-Claude watched his lover through lazy, half-lidded eyes, wanting to relish her
reaction to his next tidbit of news. “What Asher neglected to mention is that the
information I’ve uncovered concerns the identity of our three so called ambassadors. One,
is a werewolf,” Anita shrugged, obviously unconcerned, “the other two are young women, in
their late twenties. In their dimension they are called Slayers. In this dimension, I’d
believe they’d share your title ma petite, Executioner.”
She jerked up as if he’d shocked her, wide black eyes standing out starkly against her
pale, ivory skin as she reached for the comfort of one of the guns she had under her
jacket. “Fuck me,” Anita Blake swore.
Jean-Claude sighed. Asher snorted.
Buffy swore, violently. “Fuck Willow. I hate nature.” Her mood of generosity and
benevolent good will had disappeared somewhere around mile four of their midnight trek
through the forested area outside of St. Louis. Her hair was matted with twigs, and sweat
stained her shirt under her arms. And her shoes. Her beautiful shoes were RUINED.
It gave her only the barest hints of satisfaction to see that Faith was in a similar state.
Only more pissed off. And dirtier, because Buffy had sort of forgotten to point out the
gopher hole she’d narrowly missed in time to warn her sister Slayer before she’d gone
sprawling face first in the mud.
Accidentally forgotten of course. Teach her to call Buffy a bitch.
Only Oz was his usually unflappable self, though he had adjusted his pace in response to
the fact that both Slayers were about one gopher hole away from snapping. Not only was
he keeping at least ten feet between them at all times, he was also concentrating on his
Tibetan meditations. He’d been back with the Scoobies for nearly seven months and already
his self preservation skills were keener than ever.
Hard not to be when you lived in a house with several dozen highly lethal teenagers.
Probably why Willow had sent him on this little exchange, aside from the wolf bait thing.
There weren’t too many among the Senior Council who could survive a diplomatic mission with
Faith and Buffy together unscathed. Plus, Kennedy didn’t like him. Had something to do
with his hair. Or the him having had sex with her girlfriend thing.
Kennedy was touchy like that. And trigger happy. And there were way too many crossbows
in the house for comfort.
Oz really was probably better off in another dimension. Although next time, laxative or not,
he was really going to have to insist that Willow dump them at least in the hotel parking
lot instead of, say, the middle of the woods.
To put it charitably, the hotel their esteemed guests were staying at was on the edge of
town. Anita was not in a charitable mood.
“Is there a reason our little inter-dimensional friends are staying in the Bum Fuck Middle
of Nowhere? We’re in the god damned outdoors out here!” Jean-Claude merely extended an
eyebrow, which merely annoyed her more. Then there was the little Slayers/Executioners
bomb he’d dropped a few minutes before. Between the lack of sleep, dried blood,
suspiciously secluded location, and near guarantee of fresh bloodshed, Anita was feeling
Since she was twitchy in general, that was really saying something.
Jean-Claude and Asher looked perfectly at ease, though, she knew them well enough to read
the lines of tension in their shoulders. Jason, who had driven the limousine, had his
casual mask on as he rocked back on his heels and studiously ignored them all. Likely
because he was afraid to set her off. It wasn’t an entirely invalid fear. Especially not
for someone who spent a lot of time around her and knew how little it took when she was
waist deep in Jean-Claude’s Vampire crap.
It surprised her, suddenly, that they hadn’t brought a full entourage. She’d been too
befuddled to consider the implications when she’d first been informed of their destination.
No bodyguards, no other allies, no sexy lycanthrope offerings- hell even Jason was dressed
in semi-conservative, if indecently tight slacks and button down shirt. Compared to
Jean-Claude’s usual power games this kind of showing would have gotten them dead, done, and
forgotten before opening ceremonies at any kind of Council activity.
It surprised her, since they were meeting with a werewolf of indeterminate power, that
Richard wasn’t present.
Anita really hated surprises.
Her dark eyes narrowed as she studied the two Vampires closer. They had had several
centuries to become consummate actors but now that she looked, really looked, she could see
that past the general tension meetings like this brought there was something else.
Hope? Fear? Both?
Hope that this treaty would provide enough power so that Jean-Claude could hold St. Louis
securely. Permanently even. Fear that the treaty would bring bloodshed raining down on them
all. The three people they were going to meet were mind numbingly powerful. Of that there
was no argument. Kind of hard to argue that when first contact had come from a red haired
witch who had literally torn open a hole in their reality in order to stick her head through
and say hello. Of course, Anita had been in a somewhat intimate position at the time (naked
and on top), and it had taken her a few undignified moments, and then another few to see
past the red haze of rage that had followed, to accept the implications of Willow Rosenberg
and her little offer of inter-dimensional aid.
Jean-Claude hadn’t brought an entourage because he was afraid to piss them off. He wasn’t
above bullying to try to wrangle a better deal, hell that’s how she’d ended up in flagrante
with a Vampire in the first place, but in the face of two so-called Slayers of Vampires and
a werewolf of unknown status he’d brought her along. Just in case he did piss them off.
Or hell, maybe he’d thought she’d bond better with the nice killers. Hard to tell what was
rattling around inside of his brain sometimes. Other than a constant obsession for sex and
food of course.
She resisted the urge to glance down at her thighs in despair, barely.
“What do you mean they haven’t checked in?” Jason’s voice broke through her thoughts as he
raised his voice at the desk manager, who had been regarding them varying shades of uneasy
fear since their limousine had pulled up at the front doors. “It’s nearly 3 am!”
She shared a puzzled look with Asher and Jean-Claude. The representatives hadn’t known they
would be arriving. And there was no logical reason for them to have not yet arrived. It was
three in the morning. Even Anita was usually heading home by this time.
She let out a little huffed breath in annoyance. Where were they?
Oz really wished he knew where they were. He had them heading in the general right direction,
but things were starting to get dangerous in the land of squabbling Slayers. He held up the
stone arrowhead Willow had used to work her directions into. It was pointing steadily
northeast, but unlike OnStar, he had no idea how FAR they had left to go.
“I think I’m getting fat…”
Faith huffed, loudly, as her dark gaze took a moment to travel leisurely up and down Buffy’s
body. She would have blushed or hit the dark haired Slayer up until a few years ago but age,
and a warped sense of semi-camaraderie had made her more at easy and easy going when it came
to Faith. “If by fat you mean I can’t count your ribs through your shirt from here, then yes.
Geeze B, eat some carbs.”
Easy going had its limits though.
“News flash,” Buffy snapped, “a beer belly does not a fat girl make. I can’t count your ribs,
but I sure as hell can slice deli meats with your shoulder blades.”
Faith’s gaze narrowed dangerously. “This,” she exclaimed pointing at the soft bulge of her
stomach, “is NOT a beer belly.”
The blonde Slayer smiled wickedly as she went in for the kill. “Pregnant again, then?” she asked
sweetly. “I’m sure little Alexander will be THRILLED to hear he’s getting a baby brother or
sister.” Faith lunged towards Buffy as the smaller girl shrieked and ducked away, laughing and
taunting her into new heights of fury. “Faith and Xander, screwing in a tree, m-a-king a B-A-BY!”
“That,” Faith huffed as she managed to pin a flailing Buffy down long enough for a noogie, “was
JUST the one time. And it was a TREEHOUSE! And… and I was drunk!”
“Were you drunk when you married him too?”
Oz stood the required distance away as Buffy managed to flip Faith into a tree before the brunette
Slayer sucker punched her in the kidney and gave her a Wet Willie. His attention wasn’t on the
two women though, but rather some three yards or so in front of them, where the cleared semi-path
they had been following was abruptly obscured by dense foliage.
The werewolf neatly sidestepped the brawling Slayers and strolled over to the brush. He cocked
his head for a moment, enhanced hearing zoning in, before he grinned broadly and stuck his hands
through the bushes. He spread them, sweeping limbs and leaves aside so that he had a clear view
of what lay beyond. The arrowhead he wore around his neck on a leather thong perked up even
more and pointed straight at the building in front of him.
Oh thank god.
“Hey guys… we’re here.”
A blonde head, then a brunette, slowly raised as the two women peered through the opening he had
created, and into a parking lot. “Thank GOD!” Buffy exclaimed.
Faith snorted as she paused a moment, then let the blonde up from under the pile of leaves they
had been fighting in. She stood herself, rolled her shoulders, contemplated dusting herself off
before deciding it would be an exercise in futility, and pointed accusingly at Buffy. “Willow.
Buffy carefully examined her mud encrusted feet before nodding sagely. “Plastic spoon.”
The three weary travelers walked the length of the parking lot, oddly at peace. The two women
pacified by the shopping they’d get to do for appropriate clothing before their meeting with the
Vampire du jour. Oz was just happy he’d get to have a few hours peace and quiet before having to
play nice with the supernaturalness of this particular dimension. That was, until they entered
what should have been an empty lobby of their Holiday Inn.
“Hey… were we expecting a welcoming committee?” Oz asked quietly.
“Woah, power rush.”
Buffy’s head snapped around as she studied the group of people standing near the check-in desk
of the hotel. She studied them as a whole before allowing her eyes to ghost to each individual.
Now that Faith had pointed it out she could feel the power too. Different from usual spidey
sense tingles, but telling in the own way. “Vamps at least.” Her head cocked as she
contemplated the four, well… three very over dressed beautiful people and a dark haired woman
who looked like she’d been trudging through the forest right along with them. If their
forest had been bloody. “Vamps at least, but definitely other stuff too.”
Oz nodded sagely. “At least two Vampires.” Both Slayers’ heads swiveled to look at the
They examined the two unearthly beautiful men in ruffles. “Good point,” Buffy replied smartly,
all animosity both real and trumped up forgotten. It looked like show time was going to begin
a few hours early.
Faith went one further and ruffled Oz’s hair. “Good doggie.”
He frowned slightly at her and let a black tipped hand reach up and pat his purples spikes.
“Hair.” Faith grinned smugly but otherwise left it alone. It annoyed Kennedy and was
therefore something to be preserved.
Oz resisted the urge to sigh.
Anita resisted the urge to sigh. At this rate she wasn’t going to get to go to bed at ALL.
“I hate you,” she groused to her lover. “I’m never eating again, just to punish you. No
cheesecake, no wine, no… no… no CHOCOLATE.”
Jason was trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh. Anita was trying, equally unsuccessfully, not
to kick him in the shins.
“Does that mean no sex too?” the blonde werewolf asked insolently but with the boyish air that
made it so hard to hold a grudge against him.
“I’m punishing him, not ME.”
That brought even a smile to Asher’s strained features. Jean-Claude though was ignoring them
all. Anita’s head slowly turned to see what was so damn fascinating about an empty hotel
lobby at three in the morning. Only suddenly… it wasn’t so empty.
Anita Blake, Executioner and Immortal Servant to the Master of Sr. Louis, stood there, mouth
hanging open and hands limp at her sides, as she registered the three people standing warily
in the entryway. They were all in the late twenties to early thirties, two women and a man.
The man was short, with slouched shoulders, and spiked purple hair. Considering Anita had
recently been hanging out with strippers, he barely rated a passing glance, the two women
on the other hand…
Was it some sort of requirement in their dimension that these so-called Slayers not bathe?
Both women had leaves and dirt caked to them from head to toe, literally. The brunette’s
hair was sticking up like a matted beehive, the blonde’s was frizzing out and definitely the
dirtier of the two. Anita would have thought it was a fashion statement, except for the
fact that they were both obviously wearing normal clothing under the mud.
“And you said I’M underdressed. Those are the diplomats we’re supposed to meet?” she hissed
not so quietly to Jean-Claude. “Are you sure?”
The dark-haired Vampire didn’t so much as flicker a glance her way. The whole of his
attention was fixated on the group in front of them. “Ma petite,” he whispered softly, “can
you not feel their power?”
She frowned, her own dark gaze narrowed, as Asher let out a soft exclamation of wonder next
to her. And suddenly the veil was lifted and she FELT them. Living, breathing, and so
powerful it made her want to cry from it. Willow had been magic. Pure, exhilarating,
unbelievable magic. She’d had enough magic to change the world on a whim. That had been
terrifying and heartening all at the same time.
The man was a werewolf, and yet not. His beast wasn’t a part of him, not like Richard’s or
any of the pack. It was an entity in and of itself, sleeping, and terrible in its might.
Wild in ways her pack could never be and, just perhaps, stronger for it.
It was the women though. They WERE magic. Fierce and richly layered, with light and dark,
and the slightest hints of brimstone. Eternal and forever youthful. Reckless with sheer
glory of having mortal bodies capable of containing such force. Such spirit.
Willow Rosenberg had been a witch, the most powerful witch Anita could have ever imagined, but
a witch. These three, they were something else. Something… new.
“Should we go welcome our guests?” Jean-Claude breathed, blue eyes shining.
Anita glanced up at him from lowered lashes. “Guests?”
“Oui,” he replied firmly as he glided forward, Asher and Jason on his heels. “Guests.”
“Are you sure they’re our best hope?” Faith asked querulously as the four “people” in their
so-called un-welcome welcoming party drifted their way.
Buffy contemplated trying to smooth her hair down but settled for wiping a piece of much
off of her cheek instead in a last minute bid to look presentable. “Hey, I’m not mojo girl,”
she hissed back. “Ever since Wills found this little inter-dimensional portal ripping trick
it’s been go here, find this. You know the drill, she asks, and the portal opens wherever
and on whoever is best equipped to handle our requests. She asked for Vampires with souls,
and here we are.”
“And werewolves capable of controlling their wolves.” Oz added quietly. “At least its not
giant shrimp this time.”
Buffy shuddered. “Yeah, that was a great ball of ick. Especially the shaking hands part.”
The werewolf shrugged. “I dunno, the reading minds thing went badly.” Buffy winced as Faith
cast a speculative eye on them both. Oz shrugged again. “Buffy kept thinking about cocktail
“I was HUNGRY.”
They quieted as the four diplomats drew abreast them. The two groups stared at each other
for a long moment, eyes especially lingering on Buffy and Faith for numerous reasons, most of
which were sticking to their clothes, before the Vampire with curling black hair and the
bluest eyes Buffy had ever seen bowed shallowly and spread out his arms. “My name is
Jean-Claude and as Master of the City, I welcome you.”
Buffy was temporarily distracted by his ruffles, and the dark haired woman fingering the gun
she had tucked in a holster at her side, a Browning if Buffy guessed it right, so Faith took
over the role of greetings. Only, Faith generally didn’t do much of the diplomatic stuff.
“Yo, live long and prosper,” and held up her hand in… what appeared to be a VULCAN greeting.
For a reason.
“Did you just quote Star Trek?” Buffy demanded, scandalized enough to totally turn her
attention away from both the ruffles and the gun. Some things were more important in life.
Like the chance to torture her sister Slayer for, like EVER.
Faith turned beet red and shoved her hands in her pocket. “Watched it when I was a kid.”
“Oh my god,” Buffy breathed, “you’re a closet Trekkie! Did you ever dress up?”
The brunette glared. “Just once or twice.”
Oz smiled genially. “Were you drunk?”
Willow was waiting in the backyard on a swing of the swing set when the portal flared to life
several feet above the uncut grass. She watched, eyebrows raised, as Buffy, Faith, and Oz
tumbled through to the ground in an ungainly heap and no few curse words. When they stood up,
she blinked a few times.
Oz, her Oz, her old Oz, was dressed in black leather pants so tight they looked to be painted
on, and a silk… RUFFLED shirt. Faith was in a get-up that could kindly be described as
dominatrix, and Buffy, Buffy was wearing a dress that was definitely of the less is more
And it was sheer.
She bit her tongue on commenting though, mostly because the three were regarding her with
obvious annoyance which, to anyone else, would have maybe resembled rage. Maybe because it
Okay, the whole, down the rabbit hole and into the middle of the forrest thing might have
been going a bit far. Buffy and Faith smiled wickedly, as Oz merely looked satisfied. Okay,
a LOT far.
Willow glanced down at Buffy’s feet and winced. No strappy gold shoes. That was definitely
of the bad.
“Hey guys,” she said weakly in hello, “how’d the negotiations go?”
Faith arched a brow at Buffy who promptly answered, “Oh fine. We’ll have to go back and
work out some of the details. They had some kind of emergency visit from this pissy Vampire
Council and we got caught up in a bit of a war but, no big. But most of the main terms
were settled. Plus we got a concession due to an early surprise visit from their main
“Oh…” Willow responded, somewhat nervously, as the three strolled her way. “That’s good.
What is it?”
At Buffy’s nudge Faith smiled wickedly and held up, a plastic spoon.